


Teenagers Scare the Living Shit Out of Me

by sydkn3e



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Claiming, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jock Dean, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Punk Castiel, Rimming, Smoking, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydkn3e/pseuds/sydkn3e
Summary: **HIT A BLOCK WITH THIS ONE...WILL BE RETURNING TO IT...SORRY FOR THOSE WAITING**Dean is 18 years old, a senior in high school, captain of the football team, and popular with all the girls at his school.Cas is a fellow senior who is a bit rougher around the edges. He sports multiple piercings and tattoos, owns an all black wardrobe, smokes menthol cigarettes, and has somewhat of a reputation for being uncontrollable and oversexed...And it appears that he's utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had to make a few changes to this since I originally posted because it has now turned into a WIP fic, so I needed to make changes for the sake of the storyline.  
> It will not be left abandoned but I'm going to try to put out at least a chapter a month.  
> Comments are appreciated.

Maybe Cas wouldn't come.

He'd realize that he made a mistake, that he didn't actually want Dean, didn't actually want to sneak into his room in the middle of the night and fuck him senseless.

Except that he'd said he did, and Dean knew enough about him to know he didn't make threats lightly. 

Even when just the thought of those threats made Dean inexplicably hard and he'd spent... _God_... _countless_ nights lying in bed and stroking himself to the sound of Cas's deep register at the other end of the line. One hand white-knuckling the phone as the other hand gripped his cock, each growl of Cas's voice sending a vibration straight to his dick. Dean coming undone with every word out of Cas's mouth, whimpering into the phone as Cas teased him by painting images of his pierced tongue licking the sweat off his skin or of those blue eyes staring down at him as he tongued the piercing Cas claimed to have on his own dick.

Dean believed it.

And when Cas told him to come, Dean came. Without hesitation. Every time.

Dean would jerk himself hard and fast, Cas's rough and salacious voice coaxing him the whole time, and Dean would come gasping for Cas, gasping his name, grunting with every wave of release and coating his groin and thighs in hot, sticky spend.

And every time, Cas would chuckle, the arrogant asshole, followed by: _"See you tomorrow, pretty boy"_ , and the line would go dead. Dean would finally relax then, melting into his sheets, breathless, chest heaving, his come cooling against his skin as the shame of letting Cas take control of him in such a vulgar way began to sink in.

But of course, it didn't stop him from doing it again the next day, and the day after that, and so on.

It had become a nightly routine, and Dean hadn't been able to build up any sort of resistance to the black-haired, blue-eyed boy. The boy who wore smudged black eyeliner, whose hair stood spiked insanely all over his head. The boy who has more tattoos than your average biker, a plethora of shiny metal through various areas of skin, a serious nicotine addiction, and a few stints in juvie under his belt. The boy who causes parents to clutch their children to them a little tighter when they pass him on the street, who causes the elderly to feel the need to "pray for him", who blares Green Day way too loud and says "fuck" a little too often.

Like everyone, Dean is unsettled by him, intimidated by him, maybe a little afraid of him. And every minute occupied by Cas is the biggest thrill of his life.

Dean shucks his jersey and pads barefoot over to his bed, straightening his comforter. It's Cas's first visit. He wants to be good for him. He wants to impress him.

His dad is out of town for the weekend on business, and Sammy is off at a friend's for the night. His mother, well...she split when Dean was a toddler, and neither him nor Sam had seen her since. John made contact with her once or twice, but he refused to let her see the boys, and Dean never bothered to ask why. He supposed he didn't really want to know. Mary Winchester was a name not uttered in their household.

Dean thought he'd done a good job of making his room "Cas ready". He had put up all of his football memorabilia and took down all his Dallas Cowboys posters. He stripped the Batman sheets off the bed and replaced them with all black sheets. He hid all of his classic rock CDs and only kept the ones he knew Cas would approve of: Green Day, Good Charlotte, My Chemical Romance, Avenged Sevenfold, Misfits. He hid all of his school books because he couldn't make it look like he actually cared about his grades, when in reality he spent most nights studying, both before and after their phone calls. 

Not that Cas would care about any of that stuff anyway. He'd taken an interest in Dean, jock status and all, long before Dean began making an attempt to impress him.

There is a loud thump from outside his window, and Dean jumps and spins around in time to see Cas sliding the window open. He slips silently through, and then there he is, standing right in front of Dean in black cutoff jeans that are frayed around the ankles, black converses with bright green laces, and a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head and headphones dangling from the neck, loud music blaring through the tiny speakers.

Dean swallows with an audible click, then walks warily around Cas to slide his window shut again. He turns, finding Cas facing him with a smirk on his face.

"Hello, _Dean_." He says haughtily, pushing the hood off his head to unveil a mop of unruly black and blue hair. 

"Hey." 

Cas narrows his eyes as he pulls the speakers through his sweatshirt and wraps them around his phone, which he places in his pocket. 

"You seem nervous."

Dean stalls for a minute, then shrugs, the action more confident and nonchalant than he feels.

Cas smirks again, the small stud piercing through his bottom lip pulling to the side, and he turns to look around the expanse of the room.

Dean is silent as Cas walks around the room, stopping every so often to fiddle with a stack of CDs or to flip through a book or scan over his collection of DVDs. He stops at a bookshelf with a few figurines on top, and Dean mentally cursed at himself for forgetting to discard of the porcelain angels that his dad told him his mother had insisted on giving him from his childhood. Cas turns halfway to shoot him a snide look, then raises a hand and flicks a finger at one of the angels, sending it tumbling to the floor. It shatters when it hits, pieces of porcelain skidding across the floor, and Cas's blue eyes light up with amusement as he looks over at Dean and smiles.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but those beautiful eyes are on him, and he resolves to ignore it considering he hated those damn figurines anyway. He refuses to let sentimentality mess this up for him.

Cas squares his shoulders at him, then cocks his head sharply to the side, cracking his neck. He reaches up over his head and grabs his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and letting it fall to the ground, and his black t-shirt falls back down over the pale but tattooed skin he had accidentally uncovered with the action. He rolls his shoulders back, the shirt nestling comfortably back around his fit torso.

Cas presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head at Dean, eyes still squinted.

"I take it you've never fucked a boy before."

Dean gulps and shakes his head.

Cas grins a little, flashing unexpectedly white teeth.

"Well, then. Looks like we're both in for a bit of a treat tonight."

Dean frowns. "You've never...been with a boy before either?"

Cas scoffs and shoots him a condescending look.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Winchester."

Dean blushes. Of course it's a stupid question. The damn boy is sex on legs.

Cas pulls the t-shirt over his head, revealing his tattooed torso. He has a large tattoo of a bee across his chest, which immediately strikes Dean as a little odd. There are also feathers coming up over the tops of his shoulders, completing what Dean is sure are anatomical wings across his back. He is covered in so much ink that it's actually hard to tell where one ends and the next begins, but they are beautifully done and Dean stares shamelessly at all the twists and turns of color. Dean knew that Cas had tattoos, as he could see parts of the ones on his arms when he wore t-shirts, as well as the "Fuck U-Up" that Cas has plastered across his knuckles.

Cas cocks his pierced brow, the thick silver hoop adorned with spikes on each end glinting off the light cast by his bedside lamp.

"Alright, pretty boy. Let me have a look at what I have to work with."

"Y-you want me to...take my clothes off?"

Brilliant blue eyes squint coldly at him.

"No fucking shit."

Dean blushes again, hard, and a brief flash of remorse crosses Cas's face.

"Sorry. Yes, I wanna see you."

Dean nods curtly and pulls his tank over his head, letting it drop to the floor. He places his hands on the button of his jeans, hesitating for a moment before unbuttoning them and pushing them and his boxers to his ankles. He watches as Cas's eyes widen marginally, quite frankly feeling a little pleased with himself. He is already half hard just from the intensity of Cas's stare. Of course he is. The mention of Cas's freakin' _name_ sends jolts of pleasure straight to his dick.

Cas gives him a toothy grin as he stares at Dean's crotch without reservation.

"Well done, Winchester. This is going to be fun." He throws him a sly wink and steps forward, making Dean's whole body go rigid.

This is really happening.

Cas notices, and he stops in front of him, meeting Dean's eyes with his own. He places his right hand on Dean's left shoulder, squeezing it gently as he speaks.

"Chill out, freckles. I won't do anything you don't like. And look, I.." Cas hesitates.

"You what?" 

"I just...really fucking like you, okay?"

"Y-you do?"

Cas looks almost defeated. "Yeah. And don't you tell a goddamn soul!" He adds harshly, gripping his shoulder tightly and pointing a finger at him.

Dean shakes his head. "I won't."

Cas's face softens a little, and he relaxes his grip. "Yeah, I know. You're different."

Dean's features crease with confusion. "Different how?"

Cas doesn't answer but instead presses himself flush to Dean's body, the rough material of his jeans brushing against the head of his cock, and Dean feels himself grow harder. He gets a whiff of the menthol from a freshly smoked cigarette, weirdly enjoying the scent. It smells like Cas.

Cas plants a few hard kisses on Dean's shoulder, then cups Dean's head with his left hand and licks a long stripe up his neck and behind his ear. Dean can feel the little ball from the piercing sliding up his skin, and he shivers noticeably.

Cas chuckles under his breath. 

"I love how...responsive you are."

Dean gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing under his stubbled neck.

Cas kicks Dean's leg out further, allowing Dean to rut into his leg, which he takes full advantage of. The roughness of Cas's jeans feels amazing, and shortly after he begins his grinding the head of his cock finds Cas's. Dean suppresses a pleased chuckle when Cas sucks in a sharp breath, and he grinds agonizingly into him, attempting to will another reaction from him. Cas begins to pant lightly...nowhere near where Dean is at this point, but it's _something_ , and Dean is damn proud of it. Dean notices his slightly crooked bottom row of teeth briefly before his attention is drawn to his impossibly pink lips, and all he can think about is how they may taste, how they may feel against his tongue, and he vaguely wonders if the piercings affect his kissing. He immediately feels the first precome bead at the swollen tip of his cock, still pressed brutally against Cas's jeans, and his knees go weak. Cas runs his tongue along Dean's jaw, nipping slightly, until they're breathing each other's hot air, and then Cas's lips are on Dean's, forceful and unforgiving, the cool metal sliding between them as Cas moves their lips in sync. Dean stumbles back until his legs hit his dresser and he brings his hands up, carding them through Cas's thick black hair. Cas licks into Dean's mouth, and there it is, that fucking tongue piercing that Dean had imagined a thousand times before, pressing into and massaging his tongue, and Dean's cock twitches with need.

Cas pulls away suddenly, dropping his hands to Dean's waist, his pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open, panting in short puffs of air. 

" _Enough_." Cas growls, his voice deep and authoritative, and it sends chills up Dean's spine and causes the hair at the nape of his neck to stand on end.

Dean freezes, feeling suddenly vulnerable and acutely aware of his nudity, his cock hanging heavily between his legs.

Finally, Cas chokes out a laugh. Dean's pretty sure it's the only time he's ever actually heard Cas really laugh.

"Ooh-hoo! This is gonna be fun, baby boy!" He grins widely, his nose wrinkling and his bright eyes crinkling in the corners. He holds a finger in the air and makes a circular motion. "Turn around for me, baby. Lemme see you."

Dean does as he's told, and he feels Cas saddle up behind him, pressing his erection through his jeans to the crack of Dean's ass.

"Bend over."

Dean obeys, bending over and placing the palms of his hands on the top of his dresser for support. He feels like he's on display, the position and prospect of what they're about to do so taboo, and his heart rate quickens. 

Cas places his hands on the small of Dean's back, then runs them up along his spine and to his shoulders slowly, and Dean feels goosebumps cover his entire body. He shivers again.

"It's okay, gorgeous boy. You're doing great."

Something about the tone of Cas's deep and gravelly voice, calm but cocky, telling him he's doing _great_ helps to relax Dean, and he feels surprisingly more at ease. He is completely at Cas's mercy, but being at his mercy doesn't _feel_ like a bad thing...in fact, Dean feels safe under this kind of control. He kind of likes it.

"So fucking beautiful..."

Dean feels himself blush again as Cas runs his hands back down and over his ass cheeks, squeezing them lightly and spreading them wide. He clenches nervously, then hears Cas's sharp intake of breath.

"Fuck, Winchester..."

Dean hears Cas's pants unzipping and the sound of the jeans hitting the floor behind him, and he wants nothing more than to turn to see Cas, _all_ of him, but he doesn't. He stays put, waiting for Cas's next instructions. 

Then Cas is pressed against him again, his cock plastered to Dean's ass, and it feels so much bigger than it did through his jeans. His heart pounds so hard he feels like he can hear it. He wonders vaguely if Cas can tell.

Cas hums low in his throat.

"You have such a tight little asshole. I don't think I've ever been so excited to be inside someone. But God...I can't wait to feel you around me..."

Dean shivers noticeably, and Cas chuckles. He leans heavily onto Dean, draping himself over him, his head coming to rest at Dean's right shoulder. Dean looks over at him, his eyes a little wide, mouth hanging open and panting slightly. Cas is smirking. Of course he is.

"You doing okay, freckles?"

Dean nods.

"Good." Cas leans up a little more and runs his tongue along Dean's upper lip, then pulls back and offers Dean his pointer and middle fingers. "Suck 'em for me, baby."

Dean doesn't hesitate, taking both of the digits into the warm heat of his mouth and sucking. Cas is watching with hooded eyes, looking at him with the bluest eyes that have ever existed through his long and dark eyelashes, and Dean can feel the response to his actions pressing into his ass cheek.

Dean sucks for a minute or two, running his tongue along Cas's fingers, then Cas leans in and replaces them with his tongue, pressing it flat to Dean's. The little ball feels foreign and exciting against Dean's tongue and he chases it, interested in exploring it himself. All too soon, Cas retreats, and Dean is left wanting more. 

Cas slides down Dean's body and spreads his cheeks, causing him to clench again.

"Relax, angel. Let me take care of you." Cas runs his fingers over Dean's hole, and Dean's cock twitches hard under him. He moans loudly.

He hears Cas snicker behind him, then Cas's fingers are replaced by his _fucking_ tongue, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin with shock and arousal. Cas flicks his tongue expertly over the puckered muscle, and Dean's legs are shaking after mere _seconds_ , and he's having trouble staying still despite already being bent over a sturdy wooden dresser. When Cas spreads Dean's cheeks wider and plunges his tongue inside his hole, Dean nearly comes right then.

_"Fuuucckkk!"_

Cas stops suddenly and reaches around, grabbing Dean's cock at the base and giving his balls a short tug with his other hand.

"No, no, baby boy. Not just yet. You can come when I say you can, got it?"

Dean just nods, whimpering.

Cas lets go and spreads Dean's cheeks again, and his fingers are back, rubbing his saliva all over his sensitive hole. Dean's legs twitch under him and he silently prays that they don't fail him as he puts the rest of his weight on the dresser, laying flush with the wood.

Cas rubs a circle over Dean's hole before pushing the tip of a finger in, and Dean cries out and clenches wildly around him.

"That's it, gorgeous." Cas coaxes as he works his finger slowly in and out, then adds another and continues the slow assault. "Let me know how good it is."

And Dean does. He's gripping the edge of the dresser and panting and moaning like a porn star, crying out every so often with a curse word or gasping Cas's name, the burning and stretching of his hole feeling otherworldly as his legs quiver and scream in protest.

Cas loves it; it's spurring him on. It isn't long before he's full-on _fucking_ Dean's hole with his fingers, pushing them deep and sliding them in and out with ease, scissoring him open with every movement. Dean feels himself begin to teeter on the edge of orgasm again, and again Cas staves it off. Dean's cock is throbbing beneath him, aching for release, his hole squeezing impossibly tight around Cas's fingers. 

"You're doing so well, Dean. So good for me..."

The way Cas says his name sends a new jolt of pleasure through Dean, and he's strangely relaxed by Cas's odd technique of giving praise while in the middle of something so risque and vulgar, but it works for both of them, Dean responding to every word with a moan or whimper.

Then Cas turns his fingers down and plunges deep inside him, brushing his sensitive prostate and Dean screams, bucking hard against the dresser, his shaking legs giving out under him. Cas holds him tightly and continues his pace, working his slender fingers expertly in and out of him and hitting that spot each time, causing intense ripples of pleasure to spread throughout Dean's whole body. He feels it from the tips of his toes all the way to the backs of his ears, which grow hot with anticipation. He's sweating, drops of perspiration falling off the tip of his nose onto the dresser. He whimpers and cries out again.

_"CAS!"_

Cas growls, plunging deep and fingering that magical spot, and Dean's seeing stars.

"That's it, baby! Be fucking loud for me!" 

Dean lets out a long moan that ends with a whimper, tears actually springing to his eyes when he feels Cas squeeze the base of his cock again.

 _"Cas, please...let me..."_ he gasps, but Cas cuts him off.

"Don't you dare come yet, Winchester. I'm enjoying this way. Too. Much." Cas spits a word with each thrust of his fingers. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to beg though, baby. Cause see...I swear to you, I'm not gonna stop. Not until your legs are shaking and the goddamn neighbors know my name." 

He hits the spot again, and Dean lets out another strangled _Cas_ , followed by another whimper.

Cas chuckles softly. "Hmm. Looks like we're already halfway there."

Dean groans, rebracing himself against the dresser despite his shaking legs. Dean revels over how incredible it is that Cas has made him feel like this without even touching his dick, but then, he supposes that Cas has had plenty of experience. Dean wants to reciprocate, wants to impress Cas, but he's so fucking lost to him at the moment he can't think of anything. Then it hits him...perhaps no one has ever had the audacity to do anything _but_ obey him. Maybe Cas is looking for someone with a little fight in them. 

So Dean plants his feet and pushes himself back against Cas, thrusting his hips back and forth, fucking _himself_ on Cas's fingers and screaming loudly, throwing in Cas's name with every string of curse words. Cas's pace hitches for a moment, the action obviously catching him off-guard, but Dean only gets a second of arrogance before he recovers and a strong hand grips Dean's hip as Cas's fingers seem to work themselves deeper inside him.

"Holy fuck!" Cas gasps with a breathy laugh. "Who knew Dean Winchester would get off taking it up the ass? You my little whore, Winchester?"

Dean moans in response. 

"If you wanna come you better answer me, pretty boy. You my little virgin whore?"

 _"Y-yessss-ss..."_ Dean manages between strangled thrusts.

"Hell yeah you are, baby. But you're not coming this way. Wouldn't you rather come with me inside you?"

Dean nods desperately.

"That's what I thought." Cas pulls his fingers slowly out of Dean's hole, and it clenches tightly at his withdrawal. Dean moans loudly.

"Still so fuckin' tight..." Cas muses, and Dean hears him rustling before hearing the crinkle of foil packet. 

_No. No no no no no._

He turns and reaches out, grabbing Cas's wrist. Cas raises his eyes to look at him, confusion on his face. Dean shakes his head vehemently.

"No." He says as sternly as he can between heavy breaths. "Just you, Cas. Please."

Cas cocks the pierced brow and gives a smirk.

"You sure?"

Dean nods again.

Cas shakes his head a little, still smirking.

"You continue to surprise me, Winchester."

Dean turns and braces himself again, mentally slapping himself for not taking in an eyeful of Cas's cock when he could've. He doesn't have time to dwell on it before he feels the head of Cas's cock pressing to his hole, and he holds his breath. 

"You ready?" Cas asked, his voice different, a little gentler, kinder.

_"Y-yes..."_

Cas thrust slowly, the pressure heavy against his hole, then the head pushes past Dean's tight ring of pink muscle, and he screams again, his voice breaking. Cas is _huge_ , and with just the head of his cock barely inserted, Dean wonders vaguely how all of him would fit. 

But Cas pushes slowly, deeper and deeper, and he keeps pushing, until he is seated fully inside and Dean is moaning like the whore he claimed to be. Cas leans against him, panting heavier now than he has this entire time, and Dean is pleased with himself for being able to affect Cas in such a way. Cas hasn't even begun to move, and Dean is so full, his cock still hanging heavy and hard between his legs, slick with precome all over the head. 

_"Goddamn, Winchester..."_ Cas breathes, gripping both of Dean's hips tightly and digging his blunt nails into his skin.

Cas pulls back out slowly and slams back in, forcing Dean to knock against the dresser hard, bruising his knees. He screams again, and begins to whimper as Cas continues to pump in and out of him. He is flirting with the edge of pleasure and pain, the burning and stretching feeling dissipating with each thrust, being overtaken with pure ecstasy. Cas is easily brushing his prostate with each thrust, and it won't be long before Dean explodes with the force of multiple pent-up orgasms.

Cas fucks into him hard, his thighs slapping against Dean's backside, and Dean idly remembers the piercing Cas undoubtedly has on his cock. He doesn't have long to ponder before his body is rocked with another wave of insurmountable pleasure. His legs shake and he clenches his hole sporadically, causing Cas to hiss through his teeth.

 _"CAS!"_ He cries again, on the verge of a sob.

_"That's right, baby. Say my fucking name!"_

And Dean does. He screams it, over and over and over until his voice is hoarse and his throat is raw. He screams it as Cas pounds relentlessly into him. He screams it as pre-orgasm shudders shake his entire body and his mind becomes flooded with Cas; his hair, his tattoos, his piercings, his confidence, his deep voice, his attitude, those _goddamn_ blue fucking eyes. Cas is everywhere, Cas is everything, filling him up and surrounding him with an almost ethereal presence, draping himself over Dean and vowing his protection.

The pleasure is too much, it's overwhelming, his orgasm building from every crevice in his body. He's too hot and his body is too exhausted, his shaking legs barely holding any of his weight, but Cas knows Dean's pleasure...hell, he'd been the primary source of Dean's pleasure for so long now, despite having not actually touched him until this point. 

"You've been so good for me, Dean...you've done so well. Are you ready?"

Dean chokes a sobbed cry in response.

"Who am I to argue with that?" Cas taunts playfully.

Cas never slows his rhythm, never loses pace, but reaches around and places a hand around Dean's shaft, squeezing and pulling gently.

And Dean comes so hard he can't breathe. He's gasping, panting, crying...the pleasure rocking his entire body as the thick liquid paints the front of his dresser and the inside of his thighs. He comes and comes, his cock pulsating with another surge of spend each time he thinks he can't possibly come any more. He comes so hard his cock throbs painfully between his legs, but when Cas gives it one more squeeze, he feels more sticky liquid dribble down his shaft. 

His legs are useless, and he slumps heavily between the hard wood and Cas's sweaty thighs, and Cas allows his cock to slip out of Dean's tight hole.

"So fucking good, baby..." Cas murmurs, holding Dean's weight with a strong arm. "Look at me, gorgeous. Watch me."

Dean turns to look at Cas, whose hair is wilder than normal and whose pupils are blown wide, almost no blue visible. Cas is stoic and serious, and Dean watches as he retracts his hand from Dean's cock and raises it to his lips, his pierced tongue darting out and licking off a long stripe of come, using a pointer finger to spread it over his tongue. He closes his mouth around the finger, closing his eyes, and he sucks softly, a peaceful look on his face.

If Dean wasn't already spent, the sight would've tipped him over the edge.

Cas opens his eyes again and looks down, subtly acknowledging his own cock, still huge and hard between his legs. 

"My turn now, freckles. You just stay where you are." He places the come-covered hand on his own cock, running it up and down a few times. "Can you hold yourself up?"

Dean tests his legs and found them somewhat recovered, and he nods.

"Good, baby. Just relax."

Dean turns and braces himself, but Cas doesn't enter him again. Instead Dean hears a vulgar, wet sound...the sound of Cas jerking himself. Dean is overcome with the desire to watch, but the desire to obey Cas is greater, and he stays put.

Cas grips Dean's left ass cheek and pulls, revealing his hole once more. He jerks himself a few more times, hard and fast, the lubrication of Dean's come making downright obscene sounds against his skin. In no time he is coming too, his sticky spend coating Dean's clenching hole and running down his crack and spreading down his legs. Dean is covered in a mixture of Cas's and his own come, and he looks fucking beautiful.

Cas reaches down and slides both of his hands up Dean's thighs and around to his ass, the mixed come leaving a thick trail everywhere Cas's hands touched. He spreads their spend on Dean's thighs, his ass, and partway up his back as he draws Dean up to him and gives his shoulder a small bite, then kisses it. 

"You're all mine now, gorgeous. And no one touches what's mine."

All Dean can do is nod. Of course he's Cas's. It was never a question. 

But he has to ask...

"Are you mine, too, Cas?"

Cas chuckles breathlessly, running agile fingers along Dean's biceps. Dean leans back into the touch, letting his head fall back to Cas's shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere, freckles."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please leave comments! I use feedback in my writing process.

Charlie is nosey as fuck.  


She's Cas's best friend, sure, but the girl is under the impression that she is entitled to know every single minute detail of Cas's personal life. Granted, she does know more than most. But everything? No. No one knows everything about him. No one ever will.  


Cas's ambiguity is driving Charlie mad.  


She huffs loudly, blowing a stray strand of bright color-treated red hair out of her face.  


"Winchester, though?" She looks at him in disgust, wrinkling her nose.  


Cas shrugs, taking a pull off his menthol before passing it to Charlie. She takes it, tapping off the ash with a sharp black fingernail. She takes a long pull, letting the smoke billow out of her nose, shrouding her septum piercing in the minty fog. She pushes her thick black-framed glasses up on her face with a heavily ring-garnished hand.  


"Warm mouth."  


She smirks.  


"That's cute...acting like you don't care."  


"I don't."  


"Yeah, yeah." Charlie hums thoughtfully, flicking her nail nervously over the butt of the cigarette. "Really though...he doesn't seem like your type."  


Cas cuts his eyes over to his best friend, then reaches over to take what's left of his cigarette back.  


"I don't have a type."

Charlie laughs haughtily.

"Oh that's right, because fucking is just a 'basic human need'." She snarks, brandishing air quotes. She drops her arms to her sides, the sleeves of the oversized red cardigan she has layered over her American Idiot shirt sliding down over her petite hands.

"Exactly." Cas draws on his cigarette again, crushing it into the concrete on his exhale. He settles back against the cool metal of the stadium bleachers, his arms resting on the seat behind him. Charlie watches him with intrigue, cocking her head at him.

"C'mon Cas...you're a good lay, but you didn't like, rock _my_ world or anything."  


Cas scoffs, giving her a crooked smile. He'd almost forgotten about that night. Thankfully it had only been a one-time thing, and somehow, things were never weird between them. Charlie has been his best friend for as long as he can remember, and she's gorgeous, but he'd never been into her like that...with the exception of one night and some good drugs.

"Could have something to do with you preferring pussy."

Charlie laughs again, staring out at the football field.

"Yeah, that or the angel dust."

"That too."

In the distance, the bell rings, indicating the official end of the school day.

Charlie quirks a smile, crossing her long pale legs, the bulky Doc Martens looking too big for her tiny frame. It's October, too cold for her to be sporting a short skirt and ripped fishnets. Cas can see the goosebumps on her skin from where he sits.

"You cold?" He asks.

She shrugs, not looking at him. "I'm fine."

He shucks his sweatshirt and drapes it over his best friend's legs anyway, and she gives him a small smile. He nods, returning his perpetually vague gaze to the football field, squinting into the soft light. They're both quiet for several moments before Charlie finally speaks again.

"So what are you hoping to accomplish? With the jock?"

"I don't have an agenda."

"Bullshit."

Cas shakes his head a little, flicking his lighter over and over to watch the flame rise and die. He remembers the blush that spread over Dean's skin as he stood naked in front of Cas, felt the goosebumps on Dean's skin when he traced his fingers up the curve of his spine. He remembers Dean's enthusiasm when Cas's fingers were buried inside him. He could feel Dean's tight little hole clenching around his own cock as he came, screaming Cas's name. He remembers how possessive he felt over him, how he insisted on physically claiming him like some sort of wild animal in heat. 

And then there was the promise he made: _I'm not going anywhere, freckles._

Why did he say that? He didn't mean it.

Did he?

Castiel Novak doesn't get attached. To anybody. And something about Dean makes Cas feel less dominant. He feels unsure, conflicted. He doesn't like it.

Of course he would go elsewhere. It's what he does. It's all he's ever known. A stupid promise he made to a closeted jock post mind-blowing orgasm isn't going to change how he views sex.

He feels Charlie's eyes on him.

She turns to face him, her brow furrowed in interest. She draws her knees to her chest, her legs, feet, and the sweatshirt the only thing keeping Cas from getting an eyeful of ass under the flimsy skirt. She holds her left hand over her right forearm, locking her position in place.

"You like him."

Cas snorts. "You're funny."

Charlie rolls her eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, Cas. I mean, I know you don't do the relationship thing. But whatever this is with Winchester...it's not _your_ typical thing." She huffs a laugh, pushing some hair out of her face. "I didn't think it was his either, to be honest. I thought he was fucking Lisa."

"Could be."

"I didn't think he was gay."

Cas smirks and raises an amused eyebrow at her.

"He is at least a little bit, if last weekend was any indication."

"So he's bi."

Cas sighs. "One would assume."

"Huh." Charlie purses her lips, then turns to look out over the football field again. A few football players began to file onto the field in practice uniforms, some stretching while others lazily toss a football around, waiting for the start of practice. She recognized Dean even in the matching uniforms, taller than most of the others on the team, his hair looking more blonde than brown in the sunlight, the strange gold amulet he always wears bouncing against his chest as he walks.

"I take it we're not here for the relaxed seating." Charlie teases, rapping her knuckles against the metal of the bleachers.

Cas hums, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

"I wonder if he's told anyone." She muses, picking at a fingernail. "Y'know. That he's gay. Bi. Whatever."

Cas shrugs.

"It's his business."

"I mean, I'm not talking about outing him or anything. That's not cool. I'm just...wondering."

Cas raises his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"You sure are talkative today." Charlie says sarcastically, reaching over and snatching the loose cigarette behind Cas's ear. He hands her the lighter and she lights it. She exhales as she talks, the smoke trailing out from between her teeth. "Are you gonna see him again?"

"Dunno."

"Well, if you need a bed warmer, Fergus seems pretty into you." She grins deviously before placing the cigarette between her black lips, the lipstick no doubt leaving a ring on the butt. Cas cringes at both thoughts.

"I don't fuck my friends."

Charlie gives a shrill laugh, passing him the cigarette. "You mean, anymore."

"Right. Anymore."

They're both quiet again, passing the menthol back and forth every couple of hits, watching the boys below them stretching, running, and throwing. Cas's eyes never leave Dean. He watches every movement, every graceful step, every stretch of muscle. If Charlie notices, she doesn't say.

Finally, Dean looks his direction. He stops, stares. The corner of Cas's mouth quirks, but otherwise he doesn't move. He feels Charlie's gaze on him again, but he doesn't react.

Dean lifts a hand slowly and waves, ever so briefly, then drops it by his side. Cas feels the backs of his ears start to heat, and he furrows his brow, pulling absently on his tongue piercing with his teeth. The air in the distance between them is thick and suffocating. It's sparking, tumbling, pulling like the ocean's undertow. It's deafening silence after a shrill ringing in your ear; silence so loud you want to beg to hear something... _anything_...just to ground yourself in reality. Cas shifts uncomfortably.

Dean begins to take a few steps back, then seems to remember himself and takes off running, catching up quickly to the rest of the guys and falling easily in line with them.

Cas lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He steals a glance at Charlie to find her smiling arrogantly, still staring out over the field.

"What?" He spits, glaring her direction.

"I didn't say anything."

He scoffs and stands, flicking the cigarette butt away and rolling his shoulders back.

"Let's go."

___________

Dean can't get Cas's face out of his head.

The intense stare, bright blue eyes shooting lasers in his direction. It gave him chills.

"....but then again, I don't know, I think the yellow looks better against my skin. What do you think?"

Dean picks at a nail, his senses tinged with blue. Everything sparkling, electric blue.

"Dean?"

He jumps at the small manicured hand placed gently on his thigh.

"Hmm?"

Lisa gives a small grin, squinting slightly at him. Her teeth are perfectly white, popping against the dark tan of her skin. Her chocolate brown eyes are accentuated by long, full eyelashes. She has her long and dark brown hair tied up in a blue ribbon that matches the blue of the the wampus cat mascot on the front of her cheerleading uniform. Lisa is, by all accounts, the most beautiful girl at Conway High School, she has a great sense of humor, and is one of the genuinely nicest people Dean has ever met.

Tell that to Dean's brain, which has been draped in a black and blue fog since Castiel Novak's house call the night before.

"Are you okay? You seem kinda spacey today." She lifts her hand to his face, pushing some of Dean's hair off his forehead.

"'m fine." Dean says, perhaps a little too quickly and enthusiastically. Lisa eyes him skeptically, then returns to her dress catalog, trying to find the perfect dress to wear to the homecoming dance. She roped Dean into going with her, and he found himself both disappointed and relieved that homecoming was something highly unlikely for someone like Castiel Novak to attend.

In truth, Dean had thought of nothing but Castiel all week, the delicious ache of his joints and backside unwilling to let him forget. His cheeks heat at the thought, and he steals a glance at Lisa to find her blissfully unaware, flipping a page in her magazine. So holds it in front of her, the pictures facing Dean.

"So the yellow then, yes? The halter one with the beading?"

Dean smiles and nods at her, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"You'll be the most beautiful one there."

Lisa beams up at Dean as he shrugs on his letterman jacket and adjusts the collar.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. I promised Sam I'd come home early to hang out with him for a bit."

"Oh. Okay, then." She turns her attention back to the dress catalogue. "Just don't forget about this weekend."

Dean hesitates, furrowing his brow.

"This weekend?"

Lisa huffs and tilts her head in his direction.

"Yes, Dean. Getting fitted for your tux?" She rolls her eyes playfully. "I've only mentioned it about a hundred times today."

Dean smiles, blush creeping up his cheeks. Admittedly, he'd been pretty preoccupied today. His thoughts flashed back to raven black hair and tongue piercings.

"Right. I'll be there."

Dean bends down and plants a kiss on Lisa's cheek, smiling against her skin as she leans into him.

"Call me later."

"Will do." Dean throws her a wink then he's out the door of her parents' stuffy suburban home with the cornflower blue shutters.

Since the Winchester family only lived a couple of streets over, Dean had opted to walk to Lisa's. He thought the fresh air would do him good. Clear his head. But the solitude did nothing to keep his mind from wandering to the night with Cas. Didn't keep Cas's graveley voice out of his head, and definitely didn't keep him from popping a hilariously prepubescent boner at the phantom touch of rough hands against his backside.

Dean wanted to tell Lisa a long time ago. Tell her that he was confused...that he was strangely also attracted to dudes. That he couldn't help himself. But the words never came. He couldn't bear to hurt Lisa. He loves her, despite not being _in love_ with her.

Then the night with Castiel happened. It was like a dream. Unexpected. Rough and raw but also inexplicably tender for a guy like Cas. Then radio silence for days. Ignored texts, calls. Averted gazes. Until today, on the football field.

How did they even get here? When did innocent banter turn into something more?

Dean scuffs his shoe across the pavement, kicking at some loose gravel and watching it scatter. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and pulls it tightly around him, shivering slightly.

Dean feels something for Cas. Not love, nothing that he can definitively deduce, but there's something there.

An unfamiliar feeling. Strange.

Dean sees his house in the distance, Sammy in the front yard throwing a baseball straight up in the air and catching it over and over. He smiles to himself.

No truck in the driveway, so their dad must be working nights this week. He sighs. That means extra early mornings for him, getting Sammy up, fed, and off to school before time to be there himself.

The positive is that when he works nights, John lets Dean take his beautiful black '67 Impala to school. Dean supposes it's an apology for being gone so often.

As Dean nears the driveway, Sam stops playing and grins at him.

"Hi, Dean!"

"Heya, Sammy."

"Wanna throw with me?"

Dean grins. "Sure."

Sam pushes his long wavy hair back out of his eyes with one hand, the other gloved hand resting on his hip as he waits for Dean to get his own glove.

Dean slips on his glove and holds it in the air, catching the ball Sam throws him. He immediately tosses it back, and they fall into a comfortable and familiar game of catch.

"Where were you?" Sam asks.

"With Lise."

"Oooooh." Sam teases, grinning wide and exposing deep dimples in his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah, shaddup."

"Do you looooove her?"

Dean snorts. "I don't know."

Sam catches the ball and pauses, then leans forward some and whispers loudly: "Do you and Lisa have sex?"

Dean chokes on air, sputtering and coughing as Sam watches him with earnest intrigue.

"What?!"

Sam shrugs. "I mean, I was just wondering..."

"Why?"

Sam looks down, chewing at his bottom lip. He doesn't answer.

Dean bows his head, trying to catch Sam's eyes. "Sammy?"

"I...I mean...Jess and I..."

Dean blanches. "You're not having sex, are you?"

Sam's face goes red. "What? No! I just...we've been together awhile now and I just...I don't know. I don't know what to expect."

"Dad's never had the sex talk with you before?" Dean asks calmly, desperately hoping that he doesn't have to explain the ins and outs of sex to his little brother.

"Well, yeah. But it's hard to know when the right time is. Like, I know I love Jess. But I don't know if the time is right, and we've talked about it a little..."

Dean shakes his head. "You're only in eighth grade, dude. Too young to be having sex."

"But dad said..."

"I don't care what dad said."

Sam huffs, shuffling his feet.

Dean heaves a sigh. "Look, Sammy...sex needs to be with someone you truly care about. With someone you love. Because sex makes things...complicated. But when the time is right, you'll know."

Even as Dean spoke, he felt hypocritical. Just that weekend he was bent over a dresser having his brains fucked out by Castiel, a guy he barely knows, and he definitely isn't in love with him. He isn't in love with Lisa, but that doesn't stop them from dancing in the sheets from time to time. Sweet, pure Lisa, who deserves better. At least deserves to know Dean's confusion over his own sexuality. But the admission would open a whole new myriad of problems...

Dean immediately pushes the thoughts out of his head. He runs a hand over his face. Sex definitely makes things complicated.

Sam seemed to snap out of his daze, and he silently throws the ball back to Dean. After a few minutes, Sam starts going on about a new girl in his class who's deaf and his new desire to learn sign language, and Dean is finally able to bury thoughts of Castiel Novak. 

_________

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Castiel Novak snuck in through Dean's bedroom window. Seven days since he'd spoken to Dean. Seven days since he'd so much as given Dean a second glance.

It pisses Dean off, to be completely honest, the fact that Cas is able to simply ignore what transpired between them. It baffles him that it seems that Cas is able to just cut himself off, like it doesn't bother him in the slightest that he hasn't had any contact with Dean since the event. It's almost as if Cas is making a _point_ to avoid him.

Not that it bothers Dean. Not at all.

Now a week has passed and Dean can't stand the anticipation anymore. It's nerve-wracking. Dean needs to know what's going on between them, why he's ignoring him, when he'll see him again...

Which is why after the last bell of the day, when Dean spotted Cas and his usual gang smoking cigarettes outside of the gym, he took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back, and strode right up to them. Cas caught his eyes long before the others did, widening them a little when he realized that Dean was heading straight for them, drawing heavily on his cigarette which hung lazily between his middle and pointer fingers.

Dean didn't stop until he was right in front of Cas, his outstretched hand making contact with him as he shoved Cas sharply into the brick wall of the school, Cas's cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth.

"What the hell, man?" Dean snaps in a gruff tone, his eyes burning into Cas's.

Cas's initial look of surprise is quickly recovered into his typical cocky smirk, and he blows smoke out through his nostrils before pulling the cigarette from his lips and dropping it to the ground.

"Heya, freckles."

Dean grimaces at the nickname, knowing Cas only started calling him that just a mere week ago, in the dark of his bedroom as he raked his beautiful blue eyes over every inch of Dean's skin.

One of Cas's tribe clears his throat, and Dean really notices them for the first time, swinging his head around both ways to take them all in. To his left there's Charlie, Cas's best friend, an attractive redhead with alabaster skin and a fetish for ripped clothing. She eyes him warily, an unreadable expression on her face, her black-stained lips drawn into somewhat of a pout.

To his immediate right is Fergus, an exchange student native to Scotland. He's short and stocky, his blunt nails painted black and scratching absentmindedly at his impressively full beard. He's the only man Dean has ever met that can wear a skirt...kilt...whatever...and look incredibly intimidating while doing so. Beside him are Balthazar and Meg, practically attached at the waist, as they barely paused their borderline pornographic makeout session upon Dean's intrusion. Balthazar's bleach blonde hair is almost painful to look at in the light of day, the equally light-colored facial hair accentuating his gaunt, pale face. Dean wonders briefly what he'd look like under a black light, an image of body parts floating in midair flashing through his brain.

Balthazar raises a thin eyebrow, his bony fingers never leaving their place, laced through Meg's curly black hair, moving only as she turns her head to leer at Dean.

"What's this then, Castiel?" He asks smoothly, a pompous British accent jarring Dean out of his staring. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard Balthazar actually speak before. He hadn't known that Balthazar was British.

Meg quirked the corner of her mouth up at Dean, her eyes glinting with intrigue.

Cas's eyes never leave Dean's face, his mouth also turned up in a smirk. He doesn't speak right away.

"Don't you recognize him, Zar?" Cas finally asks, turning his attention to the blonde Brit. "This here's Dean Winchester."

"The football star." Fergus states sardonically, his voice scratchy and gruff.

"Precisely." Cas narrows his eyes and cocks his head, giving Dean a thorough once-over. "What can I do for you?"

His tone drips with implication as he eyes Dean hungrily. No one seems to notice. Dean grits his teeth.

"What's with the cold shoulder?"

Cas pokes his bottom lip out, furrowing his brow as he feigns cluelessness.

"What do you mean?" He asks innocently.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean!" Dean shouts, raising his voice louder than he intended.

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Don't." Dean says softly, shaking his head, his tongue coming to rest behind his teeth. "Don't do that."

"What's he going on about?" Fergus asks coldly, shoving his hands in to the pockets of his oversized black jacket.

Cas's eyes search Dean's face for a moment before he finally shrugs.

"No idea."

Cas narrows his eyes at him, sending a cold wave of rejection down Dean's spine. He feels blush begin to reach his cheeks, causing rage to build up inside him. The next thing he knows, he's pressed against Cas's front, his arm thrown over his throat, Cas's back pressed against the uneven brick wall.

Everything happens so fast. Dean is boring holes into Cas's deep blue eyes, Cas's momentary look of shock fading quickly to amusement, his pupils widening with arousal immediately after. He gives a devilish grin, the last thing Dean sees before registering the chorus of curses and objections from behind him and the subsequently strong hands prying him off of Cas and throwing him to the ground. Cas remains plastered against the brick wall, grinning wider than Dean thinks he's ever seen, revealing his beautifully white and straight teeth in stark comparison to the shiny black metal in his lip.

Dean hits the ground hard, skidding a little to a stop, his back aching with the impact. Before he has time to react, he sees a blur of black, and he's being hoisted roughly to his feet by the front of his shirt. Fergus's face comes into view, the Scot gritting his teeth menacingly as he quickly rears a fist back and plunges it forward, connecting hard with Dean's jaw and making a loud popping noise. He immediately throws another punch, connecting with Dean's left eye and sending Dean tumbling back down to the pavement. He barely registers his throbbing eye as he leans to his side and spits a mouthful of blood onto the parking lot.

Dean feels Fergus close in again, and he doubles over as a sharp kick lands on his stomach. He vaguely wonders if anything is broken before he feels Fergus's hands close tightly around his throat, cutting off his air. He's on top of Dean now, determined frown on his face as he stares down at Dean's battered face, blunt fingernails digging into the skin of Dean's neck. Black clouds begin to dance around the the outside of his vision, and he feels himself beginning to lose consciousness.

And all he can think about is raven black hair.

" _Enough._ " Cas's voice pierces through the fuzziness of Dean's half-consciousness.

Fergus doesn't listen, or he doesn't hear him. Dean can't tell.

"I said _enough_!" Cas spits angrily, and he grabs Fergus by the nape of his neck with a strong hand, pushing him forcefully to the side, off of Dean's still figure.

Dean sputters and gasps, leaning over onto the pavement as the black fades from the corners of his eyes. 

Fergus pushes himself to his feet, brushing dirt and gravel off his jacket as he struggles to catch his breath. He stumbles backwards a bit, the cold stare from Cas burning in his direction. He pants heavily, shaking the hand that connected with Dean's face.

Cas stands at Dean's feet, his expression a mixture of concern and indifference. His hands are balled into fists, and he's leaning forward slightly, as if he wants to move closer, but he doesn't. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Charlie march angrily over to Fergus and slap him hard in the back of his head.

"The hell's that for?!" He exclaims, rubbing his head.

"Chill the fuck out, Crowley!" She yells, posturing her tiny frame in warrior stance in front of him. "What, you don't think Cas can handle himself? He's a big boy! Jesus fucking Christ, you are such an idiot! What were you trying to do? Kill him?!"

Fergus shrinks back a little at her tone, and the two of them continue to argue. Zar and Meg watch them with amusement on their faces, obviously pleased to see someone finally telling Crowley off.

Dean looks back up at Cas, whose hardened face has only softened marginally with concern. Dean shifts a little, trying to sit up, but winces at the pain in his gut.

"You may want to stay there." Cas says softly in his gutteral tone.

"Why?" Dean hisses, sucking in a sharp breath in his second attempt to stand.

"I heard something crack. Might be a rib. Just..." Cas reached toward him a little, then stops. "Just hold on. Charlie?"

Charlie's still arguing with Fergus, her tousled red hair bobbing with each word of her argument.

"Charlie!" Cas says loudly, a little more insistent this time.

Charlie spins around, her face still twisted in anger before turning to genuine concern. She tosses one more look at Fergus before striding over to the two of them, her long cardigan blowing behind her.

Cas finally kneels beside Dean, reaching a hand with the letters F-U-C-K tattooed across his knuckles. Dean eyes him warily, shrinking away from his outstretched hand. Cas freezes momentarily, his brow furrowed as he gives him a hard look.

"Dammit, freckles, just let me see."

Dean hesitates only briefly before submitting, allowing Cas to lift the front of his shirt. He watches him lean down to take a closer look, the injury on his rib already red and bruised. Cas flicks his eyes up to Dean's face, something resembling remorse flitting across his features. He looks back down and grazes the tips of his fingers lightly down Dean's side, along his rib cage. Dean's eyes flit up and meet Charlie's, who's looking at him with an unreadable expression. After what seems like a lifetime, Cas retracts his hand, pulling Dean's shirt back down. He sits back on his calves.

"He needs to go to the hospital, Charlie. It's definitely broken."

Charlie gives a hard nod, then looks back at Dean again.

"You've got a car, right?"

Dean nods.

"Here, gimme the keys and I'll go get it." Charlie stretches out a hand, taking the keys that Dean hesitantly gives her.

Cas doesn't say anything for awhile. The rest of his crew are disinterested, the three of them sitting by the school smoking cigarettes. Dean doesn't know what to say. He just lays there, feeling the phantom fingertips of Cas's tattooed hand ghosting over his bruised skin. Finally, Cas breaks the silence.

"That was stupid, you know."

Dean frowns at him, holding tightly to his side.

"Fuck you."

Cas raises an eyebrow in surprise before breaking out in a huge grin, the blue of his eyes lighting up. He bites absentmindedly at his lip ring, looking Dean square in the eyes.

The staring again. Always with the staring.

Charlie arrives with Baby then, and her and Cas help hoist Dean up and place him gingerly in the passenger seat. She watches as Cas gets in the driver's side and pulls away without another word.

"Sweet ride." He finally says, running his hands along the leather steering wheel. "Yours?"

Dean cuts his eyes over at him.

"My dad's."

Cas nods, staring straight ahead.

"I like it."

Dean doesn't know what else to say, so he pulls his arms tightly around his midsection, only now starting to become embarrassed by having his ass handed to him by one of Cas's delinquents. He feels himself begin to blush.

He remembers why he confronted Cas in the first place. Why he foolishly stalked up to him, in front of all his friends, and made himself look like an idiot. A weak idiot, at that.

"Are you just going to act like last weekend never happened?"

Cas tenses, his knuckles white against the black steering wheel. His jaw clenches, and he doesn't speak. For some reason, it only serves to make Dean angrier.

"You're a fucking coward."

Cas glances over at him, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. He doesn't yell, he doesn't curse, he doesn't really even look all that mad. He clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it again, staring straight ahead.

Dean scoffs.

"You're really not going to say anything? Seriously?"

"What do you want me to say, Dean?" Cas looks over again briefly, his hands still gripping the steering wheel hard. He shifts in his seat a little.

Dean watches him, his features softening, his tongue resting behind his teeth. Dean. He'd called him Dean. Not pretty boy, not freckles...but by his real name. It sends an inexplicable warmth through him, and his anger dissipates a little.

"Anything." He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just say something to me. Just...tell me...something."

Cas sighs heavily, flipping on the blinker and turning slowly into the entrance for the hospital. He puts the car in park and cuts the engine, turning a little in his seat to face Dean, his face still unreadable. He scans Dean's face for a moment, squinting at him.

"Okay." He says finally, nodding once at Dean. "You're right."

Dean shakes his head a little. "About what?"

Cas sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, letting it slide out between his teeth slowly.

"I am a coward."

With that, Cas opens the car door and slides out of the car, leaving Dean momentarily frozen.

Cas is a weird guy. A mysterious guy. A beautiful guy with layers that Dean is sure very few people are aware of. And there's something about him...

And Dean is determined to find out what it is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold tight, my pretties.  
> It's going to start getting kind of dark for awhile, but I promise you a happy ending.  
> Please read tags before continuing. Some material may be triggering.

_It's so cold. So dark and cold._

_Castiel pulls his knees to his chest, trying to make up for his lack of clothing by containing his remaining body heat._

_He supposes that his shivering actually may not have anything to do with the cold. It's hard to say._

_"You're too pretty to not be touched." The man says, running his fingers through Cas's hair. "Whaddaya say, boy?"_

_Castiel says nothing. It earns him a smack across his cheek, and the man bends down, inches from his face. His breath reeks of cheap beer, and half of his teeth are broken and rotted. The smell burns itself into Castiel's nostrils._

_"'m talkin' to you, ya little shit."_

_Castiel doesn't speak. He hasn't spoken in years._

_"Fuckin' useless twink." The man mutters, standing back up. "That's a'ight. If you won't speak, I'll just have to make you scream."_

\--------

It's happening again.

Cas is balled up in the corner of his living room, his back pressed into the corner, making himself look as small as possible. He picked up that trick years ago. It seems to help, though he can't pinpoint exactly why.

He's squeezing his legs so tightly his nails are leaving marks in his calves, but he barely feels it. He's taking deep, panicked breaths, never quite feeling like he's able to get enough air in his lungs. His eyes are watery and glassed over, his stomach is turning, and all he can think about is how fast he can get to the toilet if he needs to puke.

Despite the quiet, the room is so loud. Everything is a blur, and he feels the pressure of nothingness weighing on his ears, pushing its way inside, filling his brain. It's all muddled up there. Flashes of a dark room, the smell of musty clothes and beer mixed with vomit, the feeling of calloused hands against his skin, the sound of his screams...

Before his body gives his brain a chance to react, he leans to the side and pukes on the floor.

_Shit...need a towel..._

He begins to rock slightly, burying his head between his knees. His heart is beating rapidly. He wonders idly if this is how he'll go...the result of a heart attack due to the intense beating of his heart, doubled over in a puddle of his own puke. 

Sounds about right.

There a shrill sound ringing in his subconscious...one that he thinks he recognizes, but then, he can't be entirely sure. There's too much else going on. He flails absently, barely registering as one of his hands make contact with something both hard and soft before he drops them back to his knees. His eyes are having trouble focusing, he can't think straight. All he sees are a couple of carpet fibers he's strangely, finally, been able to hyper-focus on.

Several moments pass before he feels the pressure of small hands on his shoulders, then everything snaps back to focus.

"Cas."

A tiny voice breaks through the deafening silence, the sound coming from the back of his brain and pushing its way forward.

"Castiel, please. Say something."

Cas catches a glimpse of bright red, and he turns in that direction, his eyes finally finding focus on porcelain skin, inches from his face. Black and red shoot out in comparison to pale skin, so starkly different it's almost comical.

"Charlie."

Charlie breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

"Cas...I...fuck." She pushes a hand to his forehead for a moment, then pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"'m fine."

She shakes her head absently.

"No...no, this one was bad, wasn't it? Worse than most."

Cas shrugs.

Charlie scoffs.

"Stop being so fucking cavalier about this. You scared the shit out of me. To come in and find you...like this." She huffs, sitting back on her calves and searching his face. "You need to tell someone how bad it is. Or so help me, Cas, I will."

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me." Her tone is serious, and Cas winces.

Cas stands slowly, regaining the feeling in his limbs. He sways a little, and places a steadying hand on the wall beside him. Charlie watches him warily for a moment before standing as well, propping herself on the arm of Cas's shabby sofa.

"I don't need to pay money to some pompous suit to hear him tell me something I already know." He says gruffly.

Charlie's brow furrows.

"So then talk to me." She says.

Cas doesn't answer, and instead shakily crosses the few feet to the couch and collapses into the cushions, letting out a long breath.

Charlie stands and walks out of the room, and Cas listens as he hears her in his small kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. He hears the water run for a moment then shut off, and her feet padding softly across the carpet as she returns. She sits on the edge of the couch beside him and presses a cool washcloth to his forehead, patting some of the sweat accumulated there. She hands him a glass of water.

"Here. Drink." She says softly, and she watches as Cas raises the glass to his lips without argument and takes a few slow sips. It's then that he notices the bright red scratches across the left side of her face, and realization dawns on him.

"I hurt you."

She looks at him sincerely, her features hard.

"It's just a scratch." She says quietly, her stare stoic.

"It's not the first time," he points out, watching her waver slightly before answering.

"It won't be the last."

He scoffs and looks away, furrowing his brow.

They're both quiet for a few moments, and Charlie finally relaxes, sitting back on the sofa and draping Cas's legs over hers. She picks at a nail absently as Cas focuses on slowing his heart rate, avoiding looking directly at her. He doesn't want to talk about it. Charlie knows that. They'd been through this before. But she was right about one thing...this one was worse than the others. He just didn't know why.

It seems like ages before Charlie finally speaks.

"Cas...I don't think you should be here alone."

"I'm not alone." He gives a small smile and nudges teasingly at her.

She smiles back, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

Cas sighs and drums his fingers across his stomach.

"I'm fine, C. Honestly."

"I don't believe that. And neither do you." She says sincerely, looking sadly at him. "We've been friends now for...what? Ten years? Now, I've come to terms with the fact that you don't want to talk about...whatever happened to you. Although, for the record, I wish you would. At least to me." She looks down and taps a finger on Cas's knee. "But I wish you'd just let me help, any way I can. I don't have to know what happened. I know you, and I know you'll tell someone when you're ready. But Cas, just..." She looks around hopelessly, at a loss for words. "...you've gotta let someone _in_ at some point."

"I like my privacy."

"This is more than that. I'm not fucking stupid."

Castiel shrugs.

It's not until moments later, when he hears her sniffle, that he realizes Charlie's crying. Silent tears ghost down her pale face, leaving tracks in her makeup.

"C." Cas says softly, reaching forward and brushing his fingertips over her elbow. "What...um."

"I wish you'd just let me be your friend, Cas."

It almost feels like a slap in the face, and Cas opens his mouth to say something, but no words come. He closes it again and instead furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side and Charlie begins barely shaking her head from side to side. She looks up to the ceiling, wiping her face with the back of a sleeve.

Too much time passes, and Cas wants to speak, but he feels anything he could say is already past its expiration date. The real crime in all Castiel's relationships has always been lack of communication.

Charlie finally stands up quietly and throws her messenger bag over her shoulder, making her way to the door without another word.

"Where are you going?" Cas asks, feeling a weird mixture of wanting her to go and wanting to beg her to stay.

Charlie sighs and finally turns back around, her posture slumped and expression defeated.

"I can't keep having the same one-sided conversation." She says, a hint of irritation to her voice. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She turns and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her, and Cas is left alone again. Not for the first time, his tiny apartment suddenly feels huge, and he feels lost inside the flaking plaster and wall-to-wall carpeting.

\-------------

Castiel flops back onto the raggedy bed and places a menthol between his teeth, reaching over to the nightstand littered with condom wrappers and cigarette ashes that didn't quite make it into the grimy ashtray. He grabs a lighter and lights the cigarette, taking a long pull as he lays back against the headboard and pushes some hair off his forehead.  


"Will you stay?" She asks timidly, rolling to her side and propping her head up with her elbow.

Cas sighs, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I can't, Audrina."

"Can't, or won't?"

He scrubs a hand over his face, then stares up at the ceiling as he anxiously flicks the butt of his cigarette with a fingernail.

"Please don't act like you don't know what this is," he says softly, emotionless.

One side of her mouth quirks up into a humorless smirk, and she nods. "Yeah. Just sex. No strings," she mimics him, rolling her eyes as she sits up on the edge of the bed and pulls on her shirt. "You've made yourself explicitly clear."

"And yet you're still angry." Cas obtusely points out, frowning. 

Audrina sighs heavily as she stands and slides a small lace thong up her tanned thighs, her back to Cas. "No, I'm not angry."

"You're a terrible liar."

She steps into her jeans, shimmying them up and over her ass and buttoning them. She turns to Cas with her perfectly-arched eyebrows raised, shrugging and letting her arms fall back to her sides with a faint slap. She tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder as she sits back down on the bed with one leg under her, leaning in close.

"Don't flatter yourself, Castiel. I'm not falling in love with you. It's just...we've been doing this for years now. It's something we both need...don't look at me like that. It is. You know it, I know it. We've gotten to this point that we can both give each other what we need without expecting more, or having more expected of us. But I thought that with finding that point, we could also learn to trust each other." She shrugs again, looking detached.

"I do trust you."

She scoffs, patting Cas's bare chest. "Don't kid yourself. You've never trusted anyone in your life."

Cas doesn't argue, just frowns. "Is there a point to this conversation, Audrina?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." She scoots a little closer, taking his hand in hers. "I spoke with Naomi yesterday."

Cas tenses, memories of his mother flooding his brain. Of her long brown hair, split at the ends, falling messily down her back. Of long, dark, thick eyelashes and blue eyes. Audrina reminded him of her.

His mother was a once well-to-do lawyer who fell into a bad way with worse people. He wants to remember her as she was before the man, but he can only remember the person she became after. Of her raspy, smoke-ruined voice coaxing him to sleep; a voice that once sang him beautiful lullabies as soft hands rubbed soothingly over his back, his hair. Images of her battered face, her blackened eyes which she eventually just stopped attempting to cover with makeup. How she was once strong enough to stand up for herself, for her children, but even the strongest of warriors can be beaten into place. She stopped fighting, stopped caring, decided the easiest way for them to survive was to just give in entirely.

Cas feels bile rise in his throat as he imagines the first time she held his wrists, crying empty tears as the man took what he wanted, as he always did. He remembers the blinding pain, the blood, the tears that stained his face until no more would come. He remembers her whispering to him, telling him that everything was going to be okay, when nothing was. And he remembers the silence that followed.

Cas feels the panic rising from the pit of his belly, and he tries to push it down. Thankfully, Audrina continues to speak, and he focuses on the sound of her voice.

"She misses you, Castiel." Audrina sighs, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "She's doing much better, you know. She looks good. Ever since she got away from Alistair." 

Cas shudders noticeably at the mention of the man's name. "Did you-" his voice catches, and he swallows the lump rising in his throat before continuing, "Does she know where I am?"

Audrina looks him in the eyes, shaking her head slowly. "No. I haven't told her anything, as promised. She doesn't even know that we're still in contact."

Cas nods, breathing a sigh of relief. Audrina was his oldest friend, older even than Charlie, and she perhaps knew more about his life than anyone else. Audrina had grown up in the house across the street from Castiel and his family. She's a few years older than Castiel, and all those years ago she attended the elementary school with Castiel's brothers, Gabriel and Michael, before Cas was even old enough to start going to school. Her home life was less than perfect as well, with an alcoholic, abusive father and absent mother. Cas had only ever shared any details of his past with Audrina, although he never told her about the horrendous things Alistair had done to him, with the assistance of his own mother. At a very young age, they turned to each other for comfort, which evolved into...whatever they have now. Cas has always needed Audrina, perhaps more than he's ever needed anyone else before in his life.

"Cas, I know she was a shit mother, but..."

"She wasn't." Cas whispers, his voice small.

"What?"

Cas clears his throat, looking over at Audrina. "She wasn't a shit mother. At least, not always. I can remember...some really good times with her too. A long time ago."

Audrina shakes her head at him disbelievingly, her eyes slightly widened. "Okay, well then maybe it's time to give her another chance..."

"I don't know that I can ever look her in the eyes again." Cas says, swallowing hard. Memories flashed of Alistair's fingernails digging sharply into his back as he looked into his mother's blue eyes; the only reassurance he was allowed. Even the thought of staring into those eyes again made the bile in his stomach begin to churn.

"I see."

Cas says nothing, just lets his mind wander back to when he was just 4 years old, before Alistair, before Naomi lost her job and the drugs drained the last bit of her personality. Gabriel and Michael were off at school, and Naomi had only just left him with the babysitter and went off to work before she was back, scooping Cas up in her arms and littering his face with kisses, her blue eyes crinkling with her wide smile. Cas's eyes did that now, a cruel reminder of her each time he caught a glimpse of himself smiling in a reflection. He'd all but stopped smiling altogether.

**_Then_ **

"Momma, you got work?" Cas asked in a small voice, giggling through her affections.

"Not today, baby. You and I are going to go on an adventure." Her eyes twinkled as she said it, and Cas can remember the excitement that gripped him, the imagination of a young boy running away with him.With Cas being the youngest, it wasn't uncommon for Naomi to plan little outings for the two of them to the zoo or the movies while Gabriel and Michael were at school. His favorite had been seeing the old donkey at the zoo. Naomi had laughed about that, seemingly unsurprised that Cas had taken a liking to arguably the most uninteresting animal at a zoo full of much more exotic animals. She'd held him up to the fence and smiled warmly as the two of them stroked the farm animal's head. The donkey seemed disinterested as young Cas scrunched his brows together and rubbed methodically between his ears. Naomi called them "kindred spirits". Castiel hadn't been sure what she meant.

This particular "adventure" was a trip to the Babers Bee Company in Georgetown, almost an hour drive from their home. At the time, it felt like a long enough journey to be considered an actual vacation. Of course, the farm was nothing like 4-year-old Castiel had imagined. It was simply large fields of smallish white boxes. He tried and failed to hide his disappointment at the lack of large braying farm animals, but Naomi had just laughed, squeezing his hand as she led him inside the main house. 

"You'll see, Castiel," she assured him, ruffling his dark hair, "there's a lot more to it than meets the eye."

They both changed into all white jumpsuits that reminded Cas of the astronauts he'd seen on T.V. with mesh masks covering their faces. The guide, clad in his own jumpsuit, took them over to one of the white boxes about halfway down the second line and pulled out one of the hives which were squeezed together like glass slides. The man, who called himself Cain, explained that honeybees were necessary to human survival and that the queen bee's health dictates the health of the hive. He told Castiel about how the queen bee is replaced yearly in each hive, and how she comes in a box plugged by a type of candy that the worker bees then have to chew through to free her.

"Kind of like the prince rescuing the princess from her tower?" Castiel had asked innocently.

Cain smiled, squatting down to Castiel's level to show him the box that still housed a newly ordered queen. The bees that accompanied her in the box were working frantically at the candy from the inside, including a few stragglers from the hive working on the outside. Cas watched, fascinated, as he realized how easily it seemed the hive had accepted their new queen.

"It's exactly like that." Cain winked at him.

Cas felt a hand on the top of his head, and he looked up to see Naomi smiling, her eyes trained on the hives as Cain continued his lesson. Even through the mesh mask, her blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, her shiny bangs falling over her forehead as she nodded at Cain and asked a question. Her fingers tinkered mindlessly with a lock of Cas's unruly hair as he watched her, but she was so immersed in the conversation that she probably didn't even realize what she was doing. Cas doesn't remember what she was saying, but he'll never forget the way he saw her in that moment; beautiful and strong and independent. It's one of the images of her that was seared into his mind.

Cas clung to her legs by the end of the trip, tired and hot, Naomi laughing as she struggled to keep from tripping over him on the way back to the main house. She finally picked him up and carried him, and he fell asleep on her shoulder as she browsed through the shop for some goodies. He barely remembers her stripping the jumpsuit off of him.

She ended up with two bottles of homemade honey and some soft honey chews, which she graciously shared with Castiel on the way home. She sang from the front seat, her voice soft instead of her normal authoritative tone (her "lawyer voice", Gabe called it), and Castiel felt himself drifting off again with the taste of honey lingering on his tongue and Naomi quietly sending him off with her favorite song:

_"Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right..."_

**_Now_ **

"I'm gonna go, Cas."

Audrina's voice snaps him back to reality, and Cas nods noncommittally.

"Yeah.." he says slowly, eyes glued to the spot on the wall across the room, his mind still not fully out of the daydream. "I mean, yes. Yes, of course."

Cas takes her hand and kisses her palm before giving it a squeeze and a halfhearted smile. Audrina smiles sadly as she pulls her hand away, but she pauses at the edge of the bed momentarily before leaning over and kissing Cas gently on the forehead. If she noticed his tension, she said nothing.

___________

Dean had been laid up in bed for a week with nothing but _Family Guy_ reruns and _Game of Thrones_ books to keep him from going absolutely stir crazy. Sam always gave him shit for watching _Family Guy_ , said it was "dumb humor" that "only someone who doesn't possess brain cells would find entertaining", and so Dean often listened with headphones to prevent him from hearing the obnoxious theme song through the walls. Dean was no slouch in the brains department, but he sometimes enjoyed watching something that allowed for him to shut his mind off and just _watch_. _Game of Thrones_ was not the same. If anything, it caused his brain to work twice as hard to understand the complicated plotlines and characters. However, Sam recommended the books, having read them himself, and there was no way that Dean was going to allow his 14-year-old brother to make him look uneducated. And damn if they weren't addictive in their own right.

It was a bonus that either one kept his mind off of black hair and tattooed skin.

That's not to say Dean hadn't done a fair amount of thinking about Castiel, because _he had_. He'd done the kind of thinking about Castiel that left him uncomfortably engorged, because hey, why don't _you_ try jacking off with two fractured ribs? 

It was embarrassing, really, spending so much time thinking about him. Dean hadn't actually seen Cas since he dropped him off at the hospital after his sparring with Fergus. Dean tried not to think about how Cas's arm had felt around his waist as he helped him through the doors of the E.R., or the goosebumps he got when Cas firmly held the wrist of Dean's other arm, which was thrown around the boy's neck.

For fuck's sake.

Dean sighs heavily, squirming restlessly against the bed that had become increasingly uncomfortable over the past week. The room is mostly dark aside from the glow of the moon through the window and the light of the television. It's late and Sammy had long gone to bed. John, of course, had left earlier on another trip after having been home with Dean since the incident. He hadn't wanted to leave again so soon, but Dean insisted he was fine, and that he would make sure Sam was taken care of. He would be returning to school soon again himself, but it would be several weeks before he could join the football team even for practice again. 

He pulls up his shirt to reveal the large purple bruise on his torso that was beginning to yellow around the edges, then scoffs as he throws the shirt back over the ugly mark. His phone starts buzzing from his nightstand as Brian and Stewie started singing a jaunty tune about marijuana, and Dean laughs out loud before checking the caller ID.

Cas.

Dean frantically grabs for the remote, muting the television. He stares at the phone in his hand for several minutes, contemplating whether or not to answer. Why would Cas be calling? Obviously their usual nightly routine was out...he hoped that wasn't what Cas was expecting, but there was really no other reason for him to be calling. He wasn't one to just "check in". Did Dean even want to talk to him?

Dean almost laughs out loud at that thought. Of course he wants to talk to him. Even while laying on that blacktop coughing up blood, all Dean wanted was to see him, to touch him, to hear his deep rumble of a voice break through the ringing in his head.

God, he's fucked up.

Finally Dean answers, his voice wheezy from lack of use. "Hello?"

"Dean." Cas says his name like a statement, his voice impossibly deep.

Dean doesn't say anything for a moment, just listens to Cas's inhale on the other line, and a dry cough as he exhales.

"Look, I'm sorry, but no can do tonight. You can thank your best buddy Crowley for that..."

"He's not my best buddy." Cas snaps quickly, cutting him off. "And what do you mean...tonight...you think I...?" He struggles to form a coherent sentence, then scoffs into the phone, followed by a dark chuckle. "Christ. I wasn't...that's not why I called you."

"What do you want then?"

"I wanted to...I guess I was just..." Dean raised his eyebrows as Cas stutters again, obviously uncomfortable. He hears him take a deep breath. "I was just...wondering how you were feeling."

Dean can't help the sly smile that creeps across his face. "You checking on me, Cas?"

"I only thought it appropriate to see how you were considering your injury is indirectly my fault."

"Yeah, well. No argument there." Dean pushes himself up the bed to rest his head on the headboard, hissing at the sharp pain in his side. "But I don't need your pity, thanks."

Cas scoffs again. "I don't pity you, freckles."

"Oh?"

"No. I..." he huffed a sigh, "I'm just not an entirely shitty human being, okay?"

"I never thought you were."

"Yeah, well. Look where that got you."

Dean chuckles, wincing at another sharp pain in his midsection. "I'll be fine. Back at school on Monday. Then you can go back to ignoring me in the halls and acting like that night never happened. You're good at that."

Cas says nothing for a moment, and Dean hopes that his words stung him at least a little bit.

Finally: "I haven't forgotten, Dean."

"Could've fooled me."

"For fuck's sake, Dean, what do you want me to say? That I think about it all the time? That I can't get your stupid fucking green eyes out of my head? That the sound of your voice gets me hard? You want me to sit here and tell you that night was the closest I've felt to anyone in years?"

Dean lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Look, Cas, I-"

"Fuck you, Winchester." The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Fuck-U-Up is most definitely a Mickey Milkovich from Shameless reference.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note of tags.
> 
> Work is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

"You look like a game show host."

"Shut up, Sam."

"But not like, one of those cheesy ones like on _The Price is Right_ ," Sam says defensively, "you know, one of the classy ones...like Alex Trebec or that guy from _The Newlywed Game_."

"Sam..."

"Or...oh! You know what you look like? One of those guys that hand out fancy towels in the bathrooms at upscale restaurants or something."

Dean adjusts his tie in the bathroom mirror, glaring at Sam in the reflection.

"You done?"

Sam grins and opens his mouth to say something else as Dean whips around and puts him in a headlock, mussing his hair. He tries to ignore the sharp pain of his ribs with the movement, holding to Sam tightly.

"Get off'a me!"

"Take it back!"

"Never!"

Sam laughs as Dean wrestles him to the ground, his mop of hair effectively sticking out in all directions, his determined face red with the effort of trying to pry Dean's arms from around his neck.

"Boys, that's enough. Sam, stop teasing your brother. Get up, Dean, you're wrinkling your suit." John stands over them grinning, his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans.

Both boys get up, Sam running his fingers obsessively through his hair in an attempt to tame it. Dean brushes off his dress pants and readjusts his tie, panting slightly and wincing from the smarting pain in his ribs.

John smiles and scratches absentmindedly at his stubbled cheek, then motions Dean over. "Come here, boy, lemme fix 'at tie."

"I look ridiculous."

"Bullshit. You clean up damn good." John smooths down the tie and pats Dean twice on the cheek, giving him a dimpled smile. His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his back pocket, frowning at the screen.

"Dad, you know you didn't have to come in just for some stupid dance." Dean shrugs dismissively.

John shakes his head, pocketing the phone. "I wouldn't have missed it. 'Sides, you know I don't like leaving you boys alone any more than I have to. I don't like missing things." He looks wistful as he scrubs a hand down his face before continuing, "But it looks like Rufus has another job for me tonight, running an old Chevelle up to Jersey. I'll need to shove off as soon as you get back. May be gone a few days, so I'll have Bobby come stay with you boys while I'm gone."

Bobby is John's friend and another father figure to Sam and Dean. He often spent time at the Winchester house with the boys when John was out of town during the week. During the weekends, the boys sometimes opted to stay with Bobby and his wife Ellen at their house down by the beach, where the couple had their spare bedroom lovingly arranged just for the boys with two double beds, a tube T.V. and an old Nintendo 64. Bobby and Ellen acted as their parents just as often as John did...not that either Dean nor Sam minded spending their time two blocks from the beach. Bobby and Ellen were both no-nonsense types, but they were good to Sam and Dean and the boys thought of them as family.

John checks his watch and raises his eyebrows, clapping his hands together.

"Alright then, it's about time." He pulls the keys to the Impala out of his pocket and tosses them to Dean. He grabs Dean's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "You look spiffy, son. Have the Braedens take photos so I can see Lise, too."

Dean spins the key ring around his finger then shoves his hand in his jacket pocket. "Sure thing, Dad."

____________

It's a crisp October night, the sun barely below the horizon as Dean drives down the road to Lisa's. The Impala roars against the pavement, a cassette of Zeppelin IV blaring in the speakers.

Dean lowers the volume as he pulls up to the house. The Braedens are nice enough, but they both have a strict aura about them that commands respect, not to mention some overtly Christian values that they impress upon him whenever he's invited over for dinner. He's not so sure that Mr. Braeden would allow his only daughter to ride off in a car that's blaring "Highway to Hell".

Mrs. Braeden opens the door as Dean steps up onto the porch, her dark hair thrown into a messy bun, the sleeves of her pink button-up rolled up to just below her elbows, allowing for her expensive diamond bracelet to glint in the glow of the porch light.

"Dean, come in," she smiles brightly at him and steps aside, gesturing into the house, "don't you look nice."

"Thank you, ma'am," he steps inside and rubs a sweaty hand nervously down his thigh. 

"Lisa is almost ready," Mrs. Braeden confirms, closing the door behind him. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm good, thanks," Dean smiles at her.

"Alrighty then," Mrs. Braeden says brightly, "I'll go help her with finishing touches. Andrew's in the family room, if you want to have a seat while you wait."

Dean nods before she bustles up the stairs. He walks through the foyer and turns into the family room, finding Mr. Braeden on his laptop in the recliner, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and eyebrows knit together.

"Evening, Dean," he says casually, pushing his glasses up as he looks over at him, "nice night."

"Yessir."

Mr. Braeden hums. Dean never understood the pairing of Lisa's parents. Mrs. Braeden was every bit as vibrant and bubbly as Lisa, with the same dark hair, complexion, and warm personality. Mr. Braeden had wispy blonde hair that was thinning on top, a pale complexion, and his glasses made him look like a seasoned historian. By comparison, Mr. Braeden was quite dull.

"How's your father?" 

"He's good. Heading out for another job tonight, s'why he didn't insist on coming for pictures and whatnot."

Mr. Braeden hums again. "Shame. He sure is a busy man. Admirable, too, taking care of you boys all by himself."

"Yessir."

Mr. Braeden gives an obligatory smile before his attention falls back to his computer. Dean busies himself with picking a piece of lint from his pants when he hears the ladies coming back down the steps.

"Here she is!" Mrs. Braeden announces as she turns the corner, arm and arm with Lisa. Dean stands as Mr. Braeden fumbles with his laptop, eventually tabling it and rising quickly to his feet, smiling warmly at his daughter.

"You look lovely, baby."

Lisa wore a long bright yellow halter dress with intricate beading on the bodice that trailed up the length of the halter. Her hair was pulled into a loose up-do and laced with a yellow ribbon, small crystal hairpieces scattered intermittently throughout. The bottom of the dress had a long slit that stopped about mid-thigh, revealing her darkly tanned legs and silver crystallized opened-toed heels and perfectly pedicured toes.

"You look...wow." Dean smiles, walking over and kissing her on the cheek. Lisa blushes and looks down, her dazzling smile highlighted by her blush pink lips, her long and dark eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

"Okay kids, stand over there by the fireplace so I can get a few pictures before you leave!"

______________

After an exhausting half hour of pictures, a lot of fussing over Lisa's hair and makeup, and a few tears, Mrs. Braeden had finally let them get on their way. Dean hardly spoke the whole way there, only smiling and laughing when appropriate at Lisa's excitement over the evening and her gossip over some of the other senior girls and the racy dresses they would supposedly be wearing. Dean couldn't find it within himself to care about dances or revealing dresses, feeling almost guilty about his general disinterest in Lisa herself despite all of her incredible qualities. It's not that Dean isn't attracted to her because really, there's no way to _not_ be attracted to Lisa. Dean almost wishes he could be attracted to her. It would make his life so much simpler. 

But no. Once again, Dean finds his mind drifting back to Castiel, to their last conversation and what exactly Cas had meant. He hadn't heard from Cas since then. It was beginning to turn into a bit of a pattern; Cas seemingly admitting to something he hadn't intended, then ignoring Dean in an attempt to pretend it never happened. Sometimes, Dean had to remind himself that it actually did.

And so it went.

"Dean."

"Hmm?"

Lisa gives a bubbly laugh, her smile wide. "What is with you lately? You hit your head in the fall too?"

It takes Dean a few seconds to process what she said, almost completely forgetting the bullshit story he fed everyone about his broken ribs. He wasn't sure why he lied about it; probably partially due to him not wanting anyone outside of the goth posse to find out that he had his ass kicked, but he knew it was mostly to protect Castiel. And himself, if he was being honest. How was he supposed to explain why Fergus beat him bloody? He couldn't very well tell people it was because he was miffed at Cas, since they didn't hang out in the same circle. And there was no way he was telling anyone why he was _really_ angry with him. It seemed easier to fabricate an indeterminable story about falling down the stadium steps as he was training one day after school.

Dean forces a smile. "Sorry, Lise. Just a lot going on...you know, between school and football, Sammy. College planning. It's been a lot."

Lisa's face softens and she places a hand on his thigh, causing him to involuntarily stiffen. She doesn't notice. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be giving you such a hard time. You have a lot on your plate, and with practically raising your brother..."

"It's okay. You- you don't have to apologize. I get it."

Lisa purses her lips and nods, drawing her hand back and clenching both hands together in her own lap.

They arrive at the school several minutes later and Dean parks the Impala, cutting the engine. There's a steady stream of students in snazzy suits and long flowing dresses, hair and makeup done to the point that Dean finds the majority of them unrecognizable. He does, to his surprise, see Charlie making her way inside, and he watches her for a moment while Lisa reapplies her lipstick for the fifth time that night. He's always a little shocked at the contrast of color on Charlie, from her ridiculously pale skin to her fire engine red hair and her perpetually black wardrobe. Tonight she's wearing what appears to be a short black corset dress, strapless, with the bottom almost like a gothic tutu, the fringe falling around the tops of her thin thighs like the branches of a willow tree. Her shoes are a slight variation to her normal clunky black Doc Martens, taller lace-up boots with thin high heels. Her hair is thrown up messily with tendrils framing her face and she's wearing a black choker and thick black bands on either wrist, making her look more like she belongs in a dominatrix bar instead of at a high school homecoming. She walks slowly toward the building, one hand resting around her midsection and the other crossed over it and holding a cigarette. She flicks the cigarette irritably before taking a long drag, the smoke billowing up into the night sky, then she drops the butt to the ground and stomps it out.

Dean blinks, shoving the car keys in his pocket and getting out of the car. He goes around to the passenger side and helps Lisa out, shutting the door behind her. They begin to make their way into the auditorium, Charlie now nowhere to be found.

____________

"C'mon Dean, dance with me!" Lisa's friend Ruby calls from the dance floor, her sparkly red dress catching light and bouncing it in every direction as she moves. Her long, dark hair falls in loose curls down her shoulders and back and she smiles widely, her smile looking almost too big for her small face, which is delicate except for her sharp brow and cheekbones.

Dean shakes his head, chuckling. He waves a hand dismissively. "Sorry, sweetheart. I don't dance."

Lisa smiles and rolls her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "Oh, go on, Dean. Or I will." She gives him a devilish grin, accompanied by a wink.

Dean raises an interested eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Now _that_ I'd like to see."

Lisa smirks and cocks her own eyebrow, maintaining eye contact with Dean as she pushes out her chair and heads to the dance floor. He watches as she makes her way to Ruby and they begin to dance, their friend Hannah joining them, her conservative purple dress darkly contrasted against Ruby's red and Lisa's yellow. After a few minutes of innocent dancing, Dean sees Lisa's slender fingers graze Ruby's arm and trail gently down the front of her dress, ghosting over the girl's exposed thigh. In response, Ruby gives Lisa a wicked smile and drapes an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough that Dean's sure Lisa is all but straddling Ruby's thigh under the folds of her dress.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, his slowly hardening dick rubbing against the front of his pants. He lets out a soft gasp.

"Hey, chief."

Benny Lafitte gives him a pat on the shoulder and plops down across the table, adjusting his bow tie. His dress shirt strains across his broad chest, the buttons pulling precariously. Dean only allows himself a second of downplayed appreciation.

"Heya, Benny. You're lookin' good, man."

"Thanks, brotha." Benny grins, his light blue eyes shining even in the dark room. "Could say the same 'bout you."

Dean snorts and turns back to the women to find them still frustratingly interested in one another. His cock twitches violently. Between them and his overly burly best friend looking way better than he has any right to in a suit, he'd be lucky to get out of that gymnasium without at least one unplanned orgasm.

Not that Dean was into Benny, per se, but he was an attractive guy, something that Dean was embarrassingly aware of. But with Benny being his best friend, Dean was not about to fuck that up.

"Damn...you think 'em ladies realizes exactly what they're doin'?" Benny says in his smooth Cajun accent, turning in his chair to face the dance floor. Dean follows his line of vision, which leads him back to Ruby and Lisa plastered to one another, the shorter Ruby practically nuzzling her face against Lisa's. She was looking up at Lisa through her dark eyelashes, lips parted, their eyes meeting in an intimate fashion. A small crowd had gathered to dance around them, pretending to be interested in their own dance partners. 

"Oh, yeah. They know exactly what they're doing."

Dean watches them for another moment, and Lisa meets his eyes for a split second, giving him a sultry smile before turning her attention once more back to Ruby. She rolls her body very intentionally into the soft curves of Ruby's front, and Dean has to close his eyes to avoid the visual. 

Not that closing his eyes helps, because now he's imagining it. And his imagination is much more creative than the teasing girls in front of him. Lisa's straddling his lap, her arms thrown around his neck as she gyrates against him. Her bare thighs are warm against the fabric of his slacks, her face just inches from him as she captures his gaze with hooded eyes. He's enraptured, his eyes frantically searching hers as she pushes him to the edge, and he feels himself begin harden as she moves against him. She kisses him, softly at first then more urgent, and his sensations are flooded with a minty flavor, probably her mouthwash or gum. Dean can taste it on his tongue and it's tingly and intense until it transforms, slowly at first, and the taste becomes bitter. It's bitter and minty and it doesn't exactly taste good but Dean chases it, because it's familiar and _fuck_ , it may not be for everyone but it's just right for him. Dean doesn't open his eyes immediately when Lisa pulls back, just lets the feeling wash over him, and he's so distracted by the taste that he doesn't notice the weight leave his lap, and suddenly there are arms circling around his neck from the back. They're rubbing roughly down his neck and his chest, under his shirt, fingernails dragging over his skin. Hot breath skates over the space behind his ear and someone takes the lobe in their mouth, biting gently, and dammit if it doesn't cause Dean to buck his hips into empty air. If he wasn't completely hard by then, he definitely is when Cas's dark chuckle finally breaks him of his reverie, and his eyes snap open, bringing him back to reality.

He's unpleasantly hard, so much so that he can feel that the front of his boxers are slightly wet, and he adjusts himself quickly. Thankfully, it didn't look like anyone had noticed. Lisa and her friends were still dancing, and every male in the general vicinity was still watching them, including Benny.

_"Dude."_

Benny jumps a little at the sound of Dean's voice and when he looks over, there's a small blush across his cheeks. "Sorry, brother."

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his oversensitive dick dragging tantalizingly across the front of his pants, and it takes everything in him to suppress a moan. He presses a flat hand down on his crotch, leaning forward slightly against the table, holding his breath.

_Yeah, that's good, Dean. Good friendships are totally built on the premise of seeing one another cream their pants over a fucking daydream._

"I'm gonna...gonna run to the restroom. Let Lise know, if she asks."

Benny doesn't look at him as he answers. "Yeah, sure thing, brother."

Dean slides out of the chair and ducks through the crowd, no one really paying attention to him scurrying out of the gym with his shoulders hunched over to hide his blatant erection. His cheeks are flushed a bright red; he can feel them burning as he rushes by several of his classmates. He sees a flash of red as he passes Charlie, and she looks up in time to see him enter the bathroom. He leans against the door as he pants slightly, catching his blushing reflection and tented pants in the mirror. He curses himself under his breath. 

A toilet seat in one of the stalls clacks against the toilet bowl and Dean hears a flush, so he quickly ducks into the closest stall, pulling it closed behind him. He hears whoever it is wash their hands and leave, but he stays put, his heart still pounding with what Dean's sure is mostly the anticipation of an orgasm. He pushes a hand down onto his crotch once more and _yep_ , he's past the point of no return. He's going to have to jerk off in the school bathroom.

Ugh.

Dean slips a hand into the front of his pants, palming himself through his underwear for a second before working the buttons undone and letting them slide down his thighs a little. He leans against the stall and spreads his legs slightly, bracing himself. He actually lets out a small gasp when he rubs himself through his boxers, the wet spot in the front growing larger by the minute.

His eyes had just closed, his head laid back against the stall, when he hears the door to the bathroom swing open and slam against the wall loudly. Next is the sound of the deadbolt locking and Dean cringes. The only time that door ever got locked was when people were...

Fuck. He does not want to witness that.

He quickly pulls his pants back up, holding his breath at the feel of the fabric over his hard cock. He buttons the pants quickly and holds his hand on the door, listening for any sounds outside the stall. Someone shuffles around and clears their throat. The footsteps stop for a long moment and everything gets eerily quiet; Dean almost opens the door to leave before the shuffling starts up again, drawing nearer to his stall.

Suddenly there's loud banging on the door, and the stall actually shakes from the force. Dean nearly jumps out of his skin, his heart pounding, and it takes him a few moments to catch his breath enough to say anything.

"It's occupied," he manages, swallowing hard as he backs away from the door.

"I know." A familiar gravely voice answers sarcastically, doing nothing for Dean's racing heart. Dean doesn't even think before throwing himself back at the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. Cas is leaned over with a hand on either side of the stall, his head down, his hair is disheveled and his white button-up is only halfway tucked into his baggy black jeans. The sleeves of his shirt are sloppily rolled up to his elbows, the harsh lighting giving Dean an eyeful of the scars on his arms, and his heart physically _hurts_ for him.

Then Cas looks up at him, the dark bags under his eyes only serving to accentuate the brilliant blue of his irises. His eyes are a little bloodshot, and it's only then that Dean can smell the alcohol on him. Cas jerks himself up straight, stumbling a bit and grabbing the stall for support again.

"You're drunk."

Cas shakes his head quickly, then takes a step forward, pressing his middle and forefinger to his own forehead. 

"Nono, 'm fin'ly seein' clearly," he slurs, taking another step, and Dean presses a hand to his chest, stopping him before they both end up falling backward into the toilet. Cas's eyes are wide and they can't seem to focus on anything. His tongue darts out to lick his lips slowly, and Dean knows it isn't at all meant to be sexual, but he can't stop staring.

"Cas." Dean dips his head, trying to pull his attention to him with his own eyes. When Cas's eyes finally meet his, the electric charge is back, and judging by Cas's rigidity, he can feel it too. Once Cas's eyes seemed to focus completely, he held Dean's gaze like it was his lifeline, the only thing keeping him upright. "What are you doing here?"

Cas scoffs and leans back a little, gesturing to his outfit. "Th' dance. Whaddaya think I gotall dres'd up for?"

Dean snorts. "Right. Well I gotta say..." he shakes his head a little, "didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, well..." Cas looks down and clears his throat, then back up, his eyes wide and glassy, "I din't really...mean t'come here. I jus...started walkin', and next thin' I knew..." 

He shrugs nonchalantly but his eyes are searching Dean's face, and there's a trace of something in them that Dean recognizes as fear. Cas licks his lips again and braces himself against the stall door, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his fingers twitching nervously at his side.

Dean steps forward a few inches, into Cas's space, and tilts his head to the side. "Why'd you come here, Cas?"

Cas's blue eyes are dark and still scanning his face furiously, and he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing under the skin of his neck, and Dean desperately wants to wrap his lips around it and suck. He wants to leave his physical mark on Cas, wants to hear _Cas_ come apart for a change, desperately wants to hear him growl out his name. But Cas's demeanor changes to something softer, a fleeting expression Dean's only seen a handful of times, and this time it lingers. His head is down but he looks up at Dean through his eyelashes, vulnerable.

"You know why."

Dean purses his lips, causing his cheeks to dimple. "For me."

Cas closes his eyes slowly, chewing on his bottom lip, and nods. When he opens them again, he looks older, defeated, exhausted.

"I tol' you, I...I can't get you outta my fuckin' head." It looks like the thought of it scares him. He scrubs a hand down his face, catching it on his bottom lip before finally letting it drop back to his side. He fixes Dean with a steely glare, but there's no malice despite the intensity. "I want to hate you."

Dean squares his shoulders. "So why don't you?"

Cas scoffs, shaking his head. He looks away, down at the ugly checkerboard tile. "I wish I knew."

"Cas..." Dean breathes. He moves dangerously into his personal space, and Cas looks up and freezes again. Dean closes in slowly, their eyes never breaking contact, until Dean lowers his forehead to Cas's and rests there, the two of them breathing heavily. Finally Cas shifts marginally, their foreheads rocking together, and suddenly Dean's hands are cupping his face, his lips pressing hard into Cas's soft pink ones. Cas's hands come up to tangle in his short hair and for awhile it's all swipes of tongue and gentle scrapes of teeth, Cas tugging gently at the nape of Dean's neck, and Dean's hands roaming up and down Cas's sides, the sensation of Cas being too much and not enough all at the same time.

Cas pulls away and Dean gets an eyeful of his lust-blown irises and the frankly feral look on Cas's face before he shoves Dean back a step, catching him off-balance.

"I want to _hate_ you," he spits again, his shoulders tense.

"Yeah, I got that." Dean frowns and shakes his head incredulously, stepping back into Cas's space, anger bubbling in his chest. "Why?" 

Cas scoffs and pushes him again, harder this time, causing Dean's back to hit the stall with a loud _thump_ , the impact sending a jolt of pain down through his back and around to his sore ribs. Cas steps forward and gets directly in Dean's face, his voice a low growl. 

"Because it would be _easier_." 

Dean's eyes search Castiel's for another brief moment before he fists into his shirt, pulling him flush against his body and crushing their lips together again. Cas kisses back with a vengeance, practically gyrating against Dean's torso with vigor, and when he brushes against Dean's hard cock, Dean lets out an undignified moan that allows Cas to slip his tongue inside, and it's moving hot and slick against his own. Cas is a fucking ocean, hitting him with wave after wave before Dean even gets the chance to get back up, he's everywhere and flooding him with sensation and Dean can barely _breathe_ , his lungs filling with the essence of _Cas, Cas, Cas_. 

It would be easier if they hated each other. It would be so much fucking easier because Dean could finally think of something other than striking blue eyes and raven black hair, he could smell something other than the tang of menthol and taste something other than the earthy aura that's every ounce of Cas's being. He could fucking _live_ without being reminded each and every day that there is _something_ here, something profound and terrifying and exhilerating all at once. 

Cas reaches down and palms Dean through his pants and Dean involuntarily bucks his hips forward, hissing as he lets his head fall back against the stall and Cas dips to assault his jaw. He's so turned on that his dick is literally aching and Cas isn't one to be forgiving, increasing the pressure and rubbing up and down his length with every intention of getting him off then and there, and Dean is more than self-aware enough to know that it's going to happen if he doesn't act quick. Cas chuckles darkly against his skin and Dean takes it as a challenge, gripping Cas's hipbones tightly and pushing him back against the other side of the stall, immediately covering his body with his own. Cas's breath comes out in a huff as his back hits the stall and he grabs Dean's collar as Dean's tongue claims his open mouth again, pulling hard enough that Dean's almost choking. Cas flexes his hands around Dean's throat, his nails digging into the skin at the base, and before Dean can even think about it he's grabbing Cas's wrists, pinning them roughly over his head against the stall as he pushes their bodies flush and slides their tongues in rhythm together.

In an instant Cas's rigidity is back and he's lost all urgency, an actual whimper escaping him as he sags against the wall, the only thing still holding him up is Dean's weight against his and the ironclad hold he has on his wrists. Dean pulls back immediately, dropping his hands to Cas's waist when it becomes clear that Cas doesn't intend on catching himself. He sinks to the floor with Cas's weight, catching a glimpse of pure terror on Cas's face. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide and glassy. He's taking short, panicked breaths and shaking and Dean is floundering.

"Cas!"

Cas doesn't answer. In fact, he's so stone-cold out of it that Dean takes it upon himself to pull him out of the stall, propping him up against the painted cinder block wall. He kneels in front of Cas and takes his face in his hands, trying to get his eyes to focus on him, but Cas is zoned out and he's shaking so hard that Dean's afraid he might be having a seizure. He's covered in a cold sweat and he's panting, holding his arms to his chest. 

"Cas! C'mon...c'mon, man..." Dean pleads, pushing his dark hair off his forehead, touching his face, his shoulder, his thigh. Anything to get the guy to come back to him.

Then he remembers.

"Hey...hey..." Dean holds his face again, looking him in the eyes, "I'll be right back. Just...hold on. Okay?"

Of course Cas doesn't answer, Dean's not even sure he can...but he scrambles to his feet and runs to the bathroom door, unbolting it and swinging it open. It doesn't take long to find Charlie in the crowd; her bright red hair shines like a beacon under the lights on the dance floor. He sprints to her and grabs her arm, spinning her around, a look of shock plastered on her face.

"Wha-"

Dean's voice comes out panicked. "Charlie...it's Cas..."

Charlie's expression changes immediately to one of recognition, and her tone is sincere. "Dean, where is he?"

"Bathroom."

Charlie nods and grabs his arm, and they both sprint back to the restroom, finding Cas in the same position in which Dean left him, with a few of their classmates gathered around in curiosity. 

"The hell's wrong with him?" Gordon Walker, who shared a Chemistry class with Dean, raises an eyebrow at them.

"Get out." Dean grounds out, pushing him and two other guys toward the door. "Out!"

Gordon raises his hands in defeat and the others follow him out of the room. Dean slams the door shut and locks it again, turning around to find Charlie kneeling beside Cas. She has a hand on his knee, gently rubbing his back with the other. 

"Charlie, what's going on?"

Charlie doesn't answer, instead speaking to Cas in a calm, hushed tone. He can't understand anything she's saying, but her tone is comforting, and Cas's shaking has reduced to a small shivering, a few tears running down his pale face.

"Charlie!" Dean hisses, taking a step toward them. Charlie turns slightly toward him, holding out a hand, her eyes hard.

"Shhh," she makes a lowering gesture with her hand, still speaking softly, "stay there. Don't move. Be quiet."

Dean squats down to their level, leaning in as close to Charlie as he can without crowding into their space. She gently pushes some hair out of Cas's face, running fingers through it, and Dean can finally hear her saying things like "it's okay", "you're here", "you're fine". He's calmed noticeably in the past few moments, and Charlie finally turns back to Dean slowly, looking at him questioningly.

"What happened?" She holds out a hand before Dean can answer. "Speak quietly, and calmly. Don't make any sudden movements."

Dean frowns and looks over at Cas, who's still staring off at nothing in particular, but his breathing seems to be going back to normal and he's squeezing Charlie's hand, so Dean takes it as a good sign.

"We were..." Dean looks down and swallows hard, then back up at Charlie who's watching him intently, "h-he...came in here to see me...I didn't even know he was here. And he'd been drinking, so I..."

"He's drunk?"

"Yeah."

Charlie sighs deeply and rubs her thumb and middle fingers over her eyes. "Okay. What else?"

Dean licks his lips quickly, trying to figure out how to continue. "We were..." he looks at her for help, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, I can guess. You two aren't as subtle as you think you are."

"W-What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind, it's not important," she waved a dismissive hand. "What triggered it?"

"I...I mean, I don't..." Dean stutters, not sure what to say.

"Think hard, Dean," she whispers sternly, "I need to know how bad this is."

Dean considers the encounter for a long moment, his eyes darting back and forth as the scene plays out in his head. The kissing, the groping, the grinding, tongues and teeth and nails, and...

"I sort of...took control at one point."

Charlie stares at him a long moment before nodding slightly. She grasps Cas's hand tightly with her own, turning more toward Dean and leaning in close, lowering her voice so much that Dean almost didn't hear her. 

"I need to know what you did."

Dean shakes his head, his eyes wide. "We were just...kissing. He had me by the collar and he was pulling me, and it started to get a little rough..." Dean trails off, his cheeks heating, "but, uh..." he flaps a hand around his neck, indicating where Cas's hands had been, "he, uh...he had his hands on my neck, and I just wasn't thinking straight, and I grabbed his wrists and held them above his head...and that's when he just...stopped. Stopped everything."

Charlie purses her lips and nods once, then turns back to Cas, who finally seems to be coming back to himself. His eyes are a little less empty and the tears are drying on his cheeks, his shaking all but stopped.

"Charlie." Cas's voice comes out as a rasped whisper, void of all emotion.

"Cas, hey." Charlie smiles, cupping his cheek with her hand. He looks over at her with wide eyes, then past her at Dean, and his innocent look immediately morphs to one of shame. He doesn't speak to him, just wrinkles his brow into a pained expression before dropping his eyes to the floor.

Charlie waits a beat then turns back to Dean.

"I need to get him home."

Dean nods. "Charlie..."

"Later." She hisses quietly, her eyes boring holes through him. "We'll discuss everything later."

"I...okay. Yeah, okay." Dean pulls his head slightly to the side, then stands, offering a hand to Cas. Cas reluctantly reaches out to take it, and Charlie and Dean haul him to his feet. She snakes an arm around his waist and he leans heavily onto her, arms thrown around her neck. 

Dean doesn't say another word, just holds the door open for them and his breath catches in his throat as Cas shoots him another glance on their way out, his eyes full of regret and longing and a million other things that Dean can't decipher. He watches them walk the back way through the halls, the opposite direction of the event, and once they're out of sight he turns and heads back to the gymnasium.

Everyone is still dancing and laughing and talking like nothing has happened, like Dean's heart isn't aching and his world isn't flipped on its side. He walks through the hordes of people in a daze, making his way back to the table. He scrubs a hand over his face, finally looking up as he approaches his seat, and Lisa is there with a disappointed frown and her tanned arms crossed over her torso. Dean's step falters but he takes the last few steps, shaking his head slightly to try to rid himself of anything that may cause Lisa to ask questions.

"Hey." He greets her cheerfully, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. She leans into the kiss, then pulls back, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Where were you?"

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it and glances over at Benny, who has his eyebrows raised. He opens his mouth again and looks back at Lisa, raising his own eyebrows in innocence. 

"I, uh..." Dean points his thumb over his shoulder, "bathroom."

Lisa gives him a cold stare and purses her lips, then stands, pushing her chair in behind her. She walks past him on her way back to the dance floor and leans in, her tone sincere and full of venom.

"Tuck in your shirt."


	5. Chapter 5

To say the car ride home was awkward is an understatement. Dean grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white, and he hasn't looked over at Lisa but knows she has her arms crossed over her chest and is staring out the window. She hasn't said a word to him since their confrontation at the dance. Dean isn't sure what to say, or think, for that matter. His mind is all over the place, spinning with the anticipation of Lisa's anger, his own guilt, Cas's pain. Dean still has no idea what happened, but Cas's reaction was like hitting a switch, and Dean's sure he's the reason behind it. The realization makes him feel ill. Castiel's face haunts him, pale and gaunt and afraid and Dean wants to wrap his arms around him and not let go. Then again, that kind of affection would probably earn him a swift punch in the face, or worse, a reaction like tonight's.

He has to talk to Charlie.

For awhile the only thing that fill the silence is the rumble of the engine and the roar of tires against asphalt. Dean wants to turn on the radio but the atmosphere is so tense that it just doesn't seem right to, like it would be somehow diminishing Lisa's feelings and despite everything, he didn't want to do that. So they sit in silence until Lisa's sigh brings him back to the present, his throat going dry.

"Lise..."

"Don't."

"Look, just...please..."

She jerks around to look at him, her nostrils flaring as she cuts him off. "You want to know the truly pathetic part? I knew it! I knew you were cheating. And I tried to ignore it, and I stayed anyway, because...I don't know. I guess I thought...in time...that I could make you fall in love with me."

Dean doesn't reply at first, thankful he has driving as a legitimate distraction so that he doesn't have to see the anger and hurt on Lisa's face. He bites the inside of his cheek nervously, and silence envelops them for a few more moments.

"It's not like that, Lise. I...I mean, I'm..." he sighs heavily, "I do love you."

"But not enough."

"That's not it."

"Sure." He can practically hearing the eye roll in her voice. "Okay, who was it?"

"Lise..."

"I think I deserve to know, Dean. Especially considering that basically means I've been sleeping with them, too."

Dean can feel his cheeks heat, and he's thankful for the dark of the car. "Actually, you haven't. This has been...somewhat recent."

"Since the last time we slept together?"

Dean tilts his head from side to side before answering. "Well...no, but..."

"Then my comment stands."

"Not exactly."

Dean looks at her out of the corner of his eye to find she has an interested brow quirked. She turns almost all the way to him in her seat, lowering her voice.

"Dean...the damage is done. Just tell me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Dean huffs a humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Many reasons."

Lisa doesn't say anything for a long moment, but somehow some of the tension in the car subsides, and he can finally breathe again. He sneaks a glance at her, finding her brow furrowed with the thought, chewing on her bottom lip.

Finally, "Is it Castiel?"

Dean goes wide-eyed and looks over at her, opening and closing his mouth with no sound coming out, and for a second he forgot he was driving until he felt roadside dirt and gravel under the tires and heard it hitting the Impala's undercarriage. He jerks the wheel hard to the left, righting the car and turning his attention back to the road.

He's still half gaping when Lisa breaks the silence again.

"Jesus."

"Sorry," Dean mutters gruffly, flexing his fingers over the steering wheel.

Lisa doesn't say anything else, and Dean doesn't know if she's afraid to or if she's just too angry.

"How did you know?"

Lisa makes a _tsk_ noise when she opens her mouth to speak, then gives a deep sigh before continuing. "I suppose I've had my suspicions for awhile now...about your preferences, anyway. But it wasn't until your fight with Castiel's crew that I really began to put things together. Hannah told me. She saw everything," Lisa confirms when Dean gives her a questioning look, "honestly...everything makes so much more sense now."

"What do you mean?"

Dean pulls up to Lisa's house, slowing down to keep the nose of the Impala from scraping on her driveway. He puts the car in park and cuts the engine, the steady rumble reducing to a purr and stopping completely. It's late and only the front porch light is on, casting shadows onto the white house from the shutters and potted plants. Dean's thankful the Braedens are already asleep; he's not sure he can deal with the sure line of questioning from Mrs. Braeden about the dance and Mr. Braeden's watchful eye.

Lisa shrugs and turns to him in her seat again, giving him a small smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "I've seen the way you look at him, and it's not the way you look at me. There were times when we were together that I knew your heart wasn't in it. But I hoped...I hoped I could make you fall in love with me, like I did with you."

"I do... _love you_ , Lise."

"I know you do," she reaches over and places a hand on his forearm, "but you're not _in love_ with me. And that's okay. You loved the idea of being with the head cheerleader, the pretty girl. You loved the idea of being everything you thought you wanted to be, and everything you thought everyone else expected you to be. But you're not that person, Dean. You've never been that person."

"I wish I could be. It would be easier." Cas's words coming out of his mouth.

"Nothing worth having is ever easy, Dean," Lisa laughs a little, "but if you don't try for what you want, I'll kick your ass myself. You owe yourself happiness."

Dean shakes his head incredulously. "I can't believe how incredible you are. You should hate me, Lise. _I_ hate me right now."

"I could never hate you," Lisa sighs, folding her hands back in her lap. "Am I hurt? Yes. Am I pissed? Hell yes. But I'm not an unreasonable person. I don't know the nature of your relationship with Castiel...nor do I understand, because..." it's her turn to shake her head disbelievingly, "you and him? I've never met two people more different."

"Tell me about it."

Lisa giggles softly, then sniffs and fiddles idly with some of the hair that's fallen down around her face, twisting it around her finger over and over as she looks aimlessly out the windshield. There are a few deer in the yard beside Lisa's house, and Dean distracts himself watching them graze for a few moments, letting the silence wash over both of them.

"So what is it?"

"Hmm?" Dean doesn't look at her right away.

"What is it about him?"

Dean looks over at her and she looks genuinely interested, turned fully to face him with her back leaning up against the passenger side door. It was starting to get a little chilly in the car, and with Lisa wearing considerably less clothing, Dean decides to cut it back on and blast some heat. When the engine roars to life, the deer in the yard take off, out of sight in seconds.

"He's...um...intriguing, I guess." Dean shrugs.

"Well, that's certainly one way to put it."

Dean huffs a laugh. "Yeah. I don't know. I mean...it was never meant to turn into this. It was almost like..." Dean bites his lip nervously, "one day I saw him, and I couldn't see anything else. It was the first time I...I'd ever..."

Lisa blinks. "The first time you realized you were attracted to guys too?"

Dean swallows, giving her a hard nod. "Yeah." He looks down at his hands in his lap.

Lisa hums, looking out the windshield. 

"It scares me, Lise."

He feels Lisa look back at him, and he looks up at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes look sad, and she tilts her head to the side slightly in that adorable way that Cas does sometimes, and Dean feels his stomach clench.

"Your sexuality is nothing to be afraid of, Dean," Lisa says softly. "Your dad and brother? They love you. They'll understand."

"Cas scares me sometimes, too."

"Why?"

Dean thinks of every interaction he's ever had with Cas, the moments flipping through his brain like pages in a book, all plagued with an unnerving feeling he can't quite place. Cas's dominance, his playfulness, his intelligence, but also his pain and mystery. His smile that's so bright and warm, his eyes lit up and sparkling. He thinks of all things Cas and he's building...until he thinks of Cas tonight, his pale face and uncontrollable shaking, and Dean crashes. He _hurt_ Cas. Cas looked _afraid_ of him. Whatever is going on with Cas is something that he doesn't trust Dean to know, and now Dean's screwed because all he wants is Cas...all of Cas...and he's unsure that Cas will ever be able to give that to him. 

"I'm not sure."

Lisa reaches over and puts a finger under Dean's chin, tilting his head up to look back over at her. She smirks slightly at his amused expression before getting serious again, her eyes searching his face as she spoke. "Are you afraid you're going to fall in love with him?"

Dean lets out a deep breath, his eyes wide and vulnerable. "Yeah."

"Oh, honey," Lisa huffs a laugh, "you should be."

"W-what?"

"Love is a scary thing," Lisa shrugs her shoulders, "because what if it's not reciprocated? What if you give them everything within you, and you trust them with it, and they can't do the same for you?" Her eyes are sad, and Dean immediately feels guilt wash over him. "But I can imagine that when you find it...it's everything you could have hoped it would be, and more. It's laughter and safety and comfort and support...all wrapped up in one neat little package..." she shrugs again, "I don't know. I'm not an expert, obviously. But I do know it's scary, and I have a good feeling that it's worth every second of fear."

"I'm so sorry, Lise."

She smiles sadly. "I know you are. And don't get me wrong, the way you went about this was shitty, but...I can't say that I didn't see it coming. I should've approached you sooner. But I was so smitten...love will do that to you, I guess."

Dean quirks a smile and leans over, giving Lisa a soft kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Lise."

"Yeah, yeah," she pulls on her coat and grabs her purse, opening the car door and getting out. She leans back in, holding her coat tightly around her. "Don't fuck this up, Winchester."

__________

Cas wasn't at school the following Monday. Dean passed Charlie periodically in the halls, but she never spoke to him. In fact, it seemed like she was going out of her way to avoid his presence, pretending to be in deep conversation with Meg or sneaking outside to bum cigarettes off of Fergus. It's by sheer coincidence that Dean happens to see her on his way out of school that afternoon, halfway hidden by a large bush outside of the rear exit, puffing on a cigarette. The smell of menthol makes his chest ache.

"Charlie!"

Charlie's eyes widen for a moment before she recognizes him, then she rolls her eyes so hard Dean is sure she'd given herself a headache. "Dean."

Dean looks around before deviating from the sidewalk, crouching under a tree branch to make his way to her. "Can we talk?"

"If we must." She takes a long drag from her cigarette then drops it to the ground, crushing it with the heel of her boot. She crosses her arms over her chest, the remainder of the cigarette smoke billowing softly out of her nose. 

Dean sighs and drops his backpack to the ground beside him. "How's Cas?"

She shrugs, pulling the long sleeves of her oversized sweater over her hands, only the tips of her fingers showing, the long black nails painted with a matte finish. "He'll be okay."

"Good," Dean lets out his breath in a huff, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Good." He leans back against a tree, watching Charlie closely as she fidgets, not making eye contact with him. "Can...can I see him?"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Charlie says quietly, looking up at him.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Dean shakes his head slightly, "I didn't know..."

"I know that. He knows that."

"Then why?"

Charlie takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising dramatically with the action. She pulls her sweater tightly around her, wrapping her arms around her torso. "Look. I've been friends with Cas for a long time. He's had these issues for as long as I've known him, and I still haven't been able to convince him to tell me anything. What you witnessed was a severe panic attack. One of many he's had...some in my presence, some, sadly...by himself."

Dean tilts his head slightly at her, pressing his lips into a hard line. He thinks of Castiel alone in some empty room somewhere, having the same kind of reaction Dean witnessed at the dance, his face pale and his breathing erratic, reaching out for anything, anyone, and not finding purchase. Alone. It all but makes Dean's heart stop.

"I'm not an expert, Dean. Far from it. But Castiel...he needs help. Real, actual help. From a professional."

"So why hasn't he gotten it?"

Charlie gave him a knowing look, her glare practically shooting darts in his direction. "I think you know as well as I do that it's not in his nature to ask for help."

Dean scoffs. "Then he's a stupid sonofabitch."

"I agree with you there." Charlie sits down beside her bag, drawing her legs up to her chest. "All I've been able to deduce is that it's something to do with his childhood. But he won't... _talk_ about it. His father is gone, and he doesn't speak to his mother. And I only know this because he lives alone. He has for a few years now...became an emancipated minor when he was just sixteen. I tried to get him to move in with me, but...he enjoys his solitude." She nervously adjusts her sweater again and smooths her long black skirt down over her legs. "Anyway, I've been there for a lot of these...episodes. I can't seem to pinpoint what exactly causes them. But considering his...sexual preferences, and some of what I've seen in the past...the worst I've seen them is anytime he experiences any lack of control. Cas likes to be in control, as I'm sure you know by now. He _has_ to be in control."

"His sexual preferences...?"

Charlie rolls her eyes again. "I don't mean his sexuality. I'm not even sure Cas would fall definitively under any one sexuality, anyway. I mean...well, he's just one whip short of a full-blown dominant, wouldn't you agree?"

Dean's cheeks burn hot and he quickly looks down. 

"That's what I thought. Hey, I've been there," Charlie says non-chalantly, "I get it."

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Winchester," Charlie laughs, "it was nothing. I'm into chicks and Cas? Well...Cas is just...Cas."

Dean's quiet for a long moment as he processes everything, then finally looks up to find Charlie studying him, one of her dark eyebrows quirked with interest. He sits down in front of her and she looks almost surprised, but says nothing.

"What can I do?"

"Really?" Charlie gives him a half smile, her tongue resting against her top teeth, "would've thought for sure all this would run you off."

"I...I get that this isn't the ideal situation," Dean starts slowly, "but...there's something...I don't know. I can't just let it go."

"Awww," Charlie tilts her head to the side again, her smile growing wider, "are you falling for him?" She gets excited when Dean doesn't answer right away. "You are, aren't you? Oh, well, Winchester...you do go looking for trouble, don't you? Seems I had you wrong all along."

"I'm serious, Charlie."

"As am I," she immediately looks stoic, "and I'm telling you...whatever you're preparing yourself for, it's not enough. Believe me. I've been there longer than anyone else. I've seen his highs, I've seen his lows. And when I say low, Dean, I mean _low_. I love him. I'd do anything for him. I've tried everything I can think of to help him get better, and nothing. Castiel doesn't want to be saved."

"Everyone wants to be saved."

Charlie shakes her head sadly. "I think in Castiel's strange, twisted version of reality, he feels like he is undeserving of anything good. I think he pushes people away because he doesn't feel like he deserves them. I don't know. Again, he doesn't tell me much of anything, and I'm his best friend. Supposedly."

"I need to see him." Dean stands, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. Charlie stands as well, sighing as she reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out his phone. She types something into it, her small fingers flying over the touchscreen skillfully. When she hands it back, she's typed in an address located downtown. Dean immediately recognizes it as the low-income apartments beside the market that he frequents with Bobby and Ellen on the weekends before heading back to their place.

"There's his address. But Dean...please, for his sake, and my sanity, proceed with caution. And definitely let him know you're coming."

"Thanks, Charlie." Dean pockets the phone and gives her a sort of half salute. She sets her lips into a hard line again, nodding curtly.

"Good luck."

___________

It's well past 2 p.m. when Cas finally drags himself out from under the mound of mismatched blankets and pillows, his head throbbing from the hangover he'd known he'd have when he finished off that fifth of whiskey the night before. He lets his legs dangle off the bed as he pushes the covers away and presses a palm to his forehead, trying to will away the pulsing pain in his temple. He rubs his eyes and sniffles, blinking a few times to clear the bleariness, and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Charlie has called him once, and there are two unread texts from her.

_Water by the bed. Hydrate yourself, Novak._

Cas smirks at the unopened bottle of water left on his nightstand, and he begrudgingly takes it and twists the cap off, easily downing half the bottle and hating himself for enjoying it. Stupid Charlie and her stupid reasonable advice.

_Leftovers in the fridge. Eat._

Cas rolls his eyes and tosses his phone back onto the nightstand where it lands with a _clack_ , and he groans and falls back into the sheets. The ceiling has an ugly circular texture painted into it and there's a weird dark stain somewhat diagonal from him that he assumes is from some kind of old water damage. It's never leaked and the owner sucks at maintenance, anyway, so he's never contacted anyone about it.

After a few moments he pulls himself upright again, snagging a cigarette from the half-smashed pack on his nightstand and lighting it. He puts his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with his palms before finally stumbling to his feet and toward the kitchen, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. As much as he hates to admit it, he _is_ hungry; in fact, it's been a few days since he's had any kind of appetite, despite Charlie's constant insistence that he eat something. He can tell by the way his shorts are hanging precariously low on his hips that he's even lost a few pounds, his hipbones jutting out sharper than normal. He does his best to pull them up as he walks, but they immediately slide back into their former position. 

The leftovers are lasagna that are sure to be from Charlie's mom, because the extent of Charlie's cooking doesn't go much further than a simple PB&J. Not that Cas is complaining; he loves a good PB&J. But when he and Charlie spend time together, he's usually the one doing the cooking. He's not half bad at it, either, when he has the patience for it and more importantly, the money for quality ingredients.

Cas preheats the oven and walks over to his mess of a kitchen table, littered with beer cans and cigarette packs, his sketchbook and pencils buried somewhere underneath it all. He scoffs and shakes his head at himself, picking up as many cans as he can carry and dumping them all in the trash. He groans audibly when he finds one of the cans has leaked all over his recent sketch. He tells himself it was just a rough sketch to pass the time, but the half-drawn freckled face and soulful eyes were taking the form of someone very intentionally, which became part of the reason that he compelled himself to stop drawing it. 

Now looking at it he realizes it’s actually kind of good, especially considering it was scrawled in a half-drunken state, and Cas gets a new wave of inspiration, deciding that there wouldn’t be any harm in finishing it. He throws away the rest of the trash on the table and blots softly at the sketch with a balled up paper towel, his cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. 

A knock at his door has him throwing a confused glance over his shoulder, and he plucks the cigarette from his lips and ashes it in the tray on his kitchen table before placing it back between his lips and taking a long drag. After another long look at the sketch he drops it back to the table and makes his way to the door and opens it, not at all prepared for the pair of green eyes staring back at him that perfectly complete the picture he just held in his hands. He exhales, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose.

Suddenly Cas doesn’t feel like an artist. His sketch doesn’t come close to doing Dean’s face justice. He’s spent a lot of time staring at the guy, sure, but no amount of studying could ever help him to memorize every little detail just right. Each time, he notices something new: the prominent cheekbones and sharp curve of his jawline, his shapely lips, straight teeth that are angled slightly back, caramel skin with a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose, what seems like a constant state of five o’ clock shadow, and olive green eyes (that happen to shine a bright pear color in the sun, not that Castiel would have ever made that comparison if he weren’t an artist, of course). It’s necessary to his passion to notice things like that.

“Cas.”

Dean says his name at the end of a breath, and it comes out relieved, like he’s waited to say it all day. Those green eyes are immediately doing that face-searching thing, bouncing back and forth as he waits for a response. Cas steps back slightly, his body still positioned between the doorframe and the door, one hand grasping the frame as the other slides up the door and rests there. 

Dean does his best to keep his eyes from roaming downward, where Cas’s shorts are barely clinging to his sharp hipbones.

Cas pulls the cigarette from his lips and quirks a small smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean waits for Cas to invite him inside, but he doesn't. He just stares, his deep blue eyes trained on him as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette.

"You weren't at school today and I just...I don't know, man. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess."

Cas's stare doesn't waver, and he pulls at his lip piercing with his teeth.

Dean feels his cheeks begin to heat. "Whatever happened at the dance...whatever I did...I'm sorry."

Cas's gaze darkens a bit, his jaw clenching, but he still says nothing.

Dean flounders. "Look, man, I-"

"How did you know where I live?"

"W-what?"

Cas arches a domineering brow, and Dean feels the immediate urge to actually _present_ himself to him like some sort of bitch in heat. He feels his face on fire at the thought, and it's clear that Cas notices. He doesn't wait for him to respond before he blurts: "Charlie told me."

"Ah. What else did Charlie tell you?" His voice is flat and sincere.

"What? N-nothing," Dean lies, shaking his head a little, "I just asked how you were and I told her, I mean...I said I wanted to apologize. Listen, dude, if I'm being honest? I just...really wanted to see you."

Cas's expression softens and he actually looks a little surprised, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he finally steps back and opens the door a little wider, a wordless invitation for Dean to come inside. He does, and Cas closes the door softly behind him. He walks over to his coffee table and crushes his cigarette into the ashtray, then gestures to the other room.

"I was just heating up some food. You mind?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Dean follows him into the kitchen and sits down at the table, looking around as Cas busies himself with whatever is in the oven. Cas's apartment isn't particularly _nice_ , per se, but it's kind of cozy, and just a quick look around makes it abundantly clear that Cas is so much more than the persona he dons in public. There's no television that he can see, instead almost a whole wall of bookshelves overflowing with books that, from the looks of it, are well-loved. There's a decent-sized plaid couch that looks like it may be a pull-out, a large wooden coffee table with a sliding door on its side, and a large black bean bag-looking chair off to the side. There's a guitar sitting on a stand in the corner of the room. Pulled up in front of the couch is a small easel, and Dean isn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before, but the walls are covered with different pieces of art, and that's when Dean puts together the fact that Cas, all black fingernails and sexual deviance and sharp tongue, paints. And draws. And... _watercolors_. 

Something about that made him seem more human to Dean. Or perhaps more ethereal. He isn't sure which.

Dean looks back over at Cas who still has his back to him as he rifles through what appears to be a silverware drawer, and that's when Dean notices the notebook on the far end of the table. He slides it closer and studies a scribbled pencil drawing; the beginning of the face of a man with a square jaw and freckles. It's still in the early stages, but it's intricate and beautiful, and he smiles at the simplicity of it until Cas breaks his reverie.

"Oh. Um...sorry. That's just...um...it's just a stupid sketch-"

"It's awesome," Dean says quietly, looking up at Cas. Cas actually _blushes_ , and he grabs the sketchbook and turns it over on the table before he sits down with his food. He takes a bite of lasagna and mumbles a thanks without looking directly at Dean.

After a moment he looks back up and swallows, licking his lips quickly. "I'm sorry, did you want some?" He motions to the small dish of lasagna with his fork, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Dean laughs. "Thanks, but I'm good."

Cas nods and shovels another bite in, dropping his gaze once more. Dean lets him eat in silence, surveying more of the apartment. When Cas is done, he takes his dish to the sink and rinses it before turning back to Dean. He doesn't seem to know what to say, and his lack of quippy banter is actually more than a little unsettling to Dean, so he speaks up.

"So you're an artist."

Cas scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't go as far as to say that."

Dean motions at all the drawings on the walls around him; everything from black and white portraits of Wyatt Earp and Batman to watercolor paintings of bees and blackbirds. "I don't know, man. It kind of seems like you are."

"It's a hobby," Cas concedes, sitting back down at the table and clasping his hands together in front of him. He's quiet for a long moment before he finally says: "Tattooing is the goal. Eventually. I'm working on a portfolio."

"Tattooing," Dean repeats, nodding, "yeah, I can see that." He eyes rake over Cas's torso and all his tattoos: the cross on his right forearm, the skull sleeve on his left arm, the anatomical wings, the bee across his chest...and some weird symbol on his right hipbone that included what appeared to be a pentagram shrouded in flames. "Hey, what's that one?"

Cas looks down and traces a finger over the ink, smiling to himself. "This one I actually did myself. It's a protection symbol. Supposed to keep the demons out, you know." He shrugs, his smile fading. "Considering I have a few of my own, I thought it was kind of...poetic."

If there was ever an open to discuss the dance, that was it, but Dean could tell by Cas's body language that it probably wasn't a good idea, and he definitely didn't want to push the guy. Instead he just nods and points at the bee tattoo, tilting his head slightly.

"What about that one?"

Cas places a hand over his heart, rubbing at the skin that's adorned with one of the wings of the bee, and his smile disappears completely. There's a brief flash of something across his face before he recovers his hard demeanor, frowning slightly.

"Dean...we both know you didn't come here to discuss my tattoos."

Dean sighs. "No. No, I didn't."

Cas presses his lips into a thin line and looks down at his hands, rubbing a finger over the tattooed "k" on his right pointer finger. "They're panic attacks, okay?" He starts slowly, his voice quiet, "I just...get them sometimes. They're not a big deal."

"Well...I'm sorry, Cas, but they kind of seemed like a big deal to me," Dean rubs a hand down his face, leaving it to rest at his chin, "and I know you don't want to talk about it or whatever, Charlie said-"

He cringes almost as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"Charlie talked to you?" Cas grinds out, his nostrils flaring, eyes burning.

"N-no. Well, yeah. But she didn't tell me anything, I swear."

"Bullshit."

"She didn't, Cas. Well, I mean...not really. She doesn't really know anything herself. She told me you have issues that you won't speak to anyone about, and I think...I think she only told me that much because she thinks I may be able to help."

Cas scoffs. "Really? How so?"

Dean shakes his head slightly and shrugs. "I don't know. But if I can, Cas...I-I want to."

Cas's expression softens and he tilts his head at Dean, his pink lips parted and his brow furrowed. "You can't save everyone, my friend."

Dean meets his gaze, his eyes wide from the honesty of Cas's statement. He doesn't think he can be saved, just as Charlie said, he honestly doesn't believe that he's _worthy_ of being saved. Dean slides out of his chair and shuffles the few feet to Cas, his body moving without his brain even registering what was happening, a solid hand bracing himself atop the table to keep him grounded. Cas turns in his seat as Dean approaches, his expression a mixture of shock and expectation as Dean presses easily to his front. He loops his arms around Dean's waist as Dean drapes his around Cas's neck, and they meet in the middle. Much to Dean's surprise, it's Cas's mouth that opens first, allowing Dean's tongue entry and Dean takes full advantage, even as he feels Cas's hands tighten on his hips and he realizes he'll have bruises later.

It's not an urgent kiss, it's not expectant, and Cas's grip relaxes slightly as Dean licks gently into his mouth, drawing his arms up to cup Cas's face gently. When Dean finally pulls away Cas is watching him with a sort of wonder in his eyes, his full lips slick with spit and slightly parted. He blinks and he looks almost confused, and Dean reaches up and tries to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead, moving slowly, afraid that any minute Cas may remember himself and push him away. He doesn't.

"Maybe not," Dean whispers, and Cas presses his lips together, his eyes suddenly sad, "but I can try."

**Author's Note:**

> Work is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.


End file.
